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emjayewrites · 2 months

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Private Landing (Lewis Hamilton Fanfic)(5/?)

SUMMARY: In the high-speed world of Formula One, Lewis Hamilton subtly introduces a mysterious partner via Instagram after a slight mishap during an interview. Sparking media intrigue, everyone wants to know: who is the enigmatic figure that calls herself Mrs. Hamilton?

INSPO: this post

PAIRINGS: Sir Lewis Hamilton x Aurora "Rorie" Phillips-Hamilton (faceclaim is Justine Skye)

WARNINGS: drama, angst, sexual content, formula one b.s., pre-established relationship (with flashbacks). RATED M (18+)

TAGLIST: @queenshikongo3 @cocobutterqwueen @httpsserene @mauvecherie-writes @galatially @pausmoon @a-moment-captured @yeea-nah @sirlew44 @melodichaeuxx-lacritquexx @weetjy @lewisroscoelove @hxneyclouds @questionable-behaviour @lovebittenbyevans @tian-monique @alika-4466 @saintslewis @cherry2stems @mitruscity @burberryfilms @planetmimi @woderfulkawaii @d3kstar @liamundi @trinitoldyouso @scorpiobleue @pharaohanubis0 @certifiedlesbianbaddie @blveeeeeee @sugardontbesweet @omgsuperstarg @bluesole16 @serpenttines-library @peyiswriting @royallyprincesslilly @jasmindaughteroftheworld @laptiteantillaise @motheroffae @hrlzy

A/N: Please let me know if you want to be added/removed from the taglist. The headers/dividers are by @inklore

CHAPTER 5: Ups & Downs

Summer break came to a bittersweet end and they were soon gearing up to return to the thrill of racing once more. Everyone had an amazing time exploring Turkey as well as spending some quality time with family in Colorado. With the Dutch Grand Prix just around the corner, anticipation hung heavy in the air as fans eagerly awaited the pulse-pounding action that was sure to unfold on the historic circuit of Zandvoort.

Meanwhile, the news of Lewis signing on for another year at Mercedes sent ripples through the racing world. His decision was met with both celebration and anticipation, as fans eagerly awaited another season of thrilling races and nail-biting finishes. With his focus now shifting back to racing, Lewis immersed himself in rigorous training sessions, honing his skills and pushing himself to new limits. He left a few days before Rorie and Lyric, anxiously wanting to test drive the updated car prior to the race.

The bustling streets of Amsterdam buzzed with excitement as Rorie drove to the quaint town near the racetrack, eager to soak in the vibrant atmosphere that surrounded the Grand Prix weekend. The winding roads leading up to Zandvoort were adorned with colorful banners and flags, a vivid display of national pride as fans from all corners of the world gathered to witness the adrenaline-fueled spectacle.

Rorie made her way through the crowded paddock, she couldn't help but feel a sense of familiarity and comfort. She had become accustomed to the hustle and bustle of race weekends, the constant adrenaline rush and the intense competition that filled the air. But this time, things were different.

As usual, she was there supporting her man, yet this time, as with all the other races, her presence was no longer unnoticed or overlooked. The media had taken an interest in their relationship, and Rorie was now under constant scrutiny from paparazzi and fans alike. She could no longer walk around the circuit incognito like she used to and was now photographed just like the other team members' spouses and girlfriends. All eyes were on her wherever she went.

The chaos and clamor that followed her everywhere had magically dissipated for once. It was a refreshing change from the incessant screaming and pushing that usually surrounded her - perhaps the fans and media finally understood the importance of privacy, especially now since she had Lyric with her.

They still continued to take photos however, but maintained a respectful distance nonetheless. The warm scent of fresh stroopwafels wafted through the air, adding to the joyful atmosphere of the moment.

“Ooh, do you want a treat, sweetheart?” she asked her toddler, pausing for a quick second to lift up the canopy. No surprise, he was asleep. “Alrighty then, a treat for Mommy,” Rorie laughed to herself as she continued on her way, pushing the stroller towards the stroopwafel station.

As she stood in line for some warm stroopwafels, Rorie’s mind drifted off to her journey to motherhood and the difficulty of getting pregnant. And now, she and Lewis were thinking about having another, which scared her a bit, making her worry if she would have to go through the same hoops as she did in order to get pregnant with their son.

Rorie was deep in thought when a pack of enthusiastic fans noticed her and excitedly approached her.

"Oh my gosh, you’re Lewis’ wife, right?" one fan exclaimed, causing others in the line to turn and stare at her.

Rorie nodded. “That’s me. How are you all doing?"

"I knew it was you!" another fan interjected, nudging her friend. “I told you, Ella!”

The first fan, Ella, looked down at the stroller. "Did you bring Baby LH with you? Can we see them?"

Rorie felt a small frown forming on her face. Her baby was more than just a prop, but these girls couldn't be much older than fifteen so she let it slide. "Baby LH is sleeping at the moment, ladies. But we can take a picture or I can treat you to some stroopwafels. Your call."

They looked at each other before agreeing on a group selfie.

Rorie smiled warmly as they gathered around her for the photo. After a few minutes and deciding that the photos were satisfactory for their teenage standards, the girls thanked her and went on their way.

Pushing the stroller with one hand while holding a steaming stroopwafel in the other, Rorie made her way towards the Mercedes hospitality motorhome where she was greeted by familiar faces – Toto Wolff, his wife Susie, and their son, Jack.

“Surprised to see you here. How are you, Rorie?” asked Toto.

“Hi, Rorie,” Susie smiled, giving her a hug.

“Hi Toto, Susie," Rorie said with a smile, returning her warm embrace. She then turned to Jack who was busy playing with his toy cars on the floor. "And how's my favorite little racer doing?"

Jack looked up and grinned when he saw Rorie. "Hi Auntie Rorie!"

Rorie chuckled and ruffled his hair affectionately. "You're getting bigger every time I see you."

“Jack was just asking about his buddy Lyric," Susie stated with a grin.

“Yeah, Lewis said that he can walk now, so we can go on the scooter together,” responded Jack with a bright smile.

"Well, here he is," Rorie said, lifting up the canopy to reveal Lyric who was still sound asleep. "But we might have to wait for him to wake up before he can play and I don’t think Lyric is big enough yet to ride the scooter.”

She settled into one of the plush couches in the motorhome, enjoying her stroopwafel and a cup of hot coffee as she caught up with Toto and Susie. They chatted about their families and upcoming races.

Lyric let out a cry as he stirred awake and flashed a smile at Rorie when he saw his mother.

"Hey there little man," Rorie cooed as she picked him up, planting a kiss on his chubby cheek. "Did you have a nice nap?”

Lyric gurgled happily in Rorie's arms as she sat back down on the couch. Toto and Susie couldn't help but smile at the sight of Rorie with her baby.

"He's gotten so big, it feels like just yesterday he was born," remarked Susie.

Rorie beamed with pride. "He's growing up so quickly. And he's such a happy baby, but he's always trying to get his little hands on everything."

Sure enough, Lyric reached out for the rest of Rorie’s stroopwafel

"Uh-uh little man," she said playfully, moving the treat out of his reach. "You're not quite ready for that yet."

Lyric cried out in protest. “No!”

Toto chuckled. "Looks like Lyric inherited his father's sweet tooth."

"Unfortunately, yes," Rorie laughed uneasily as she tried to placate her whining son. He wriggled in her arms, so she decided to put him down on the floor and give him a snack from her diaper bag. "Just one though, okay?"

Lyric replied with a defiant "No!" before grabbing the treat and toddling over to Jack.

"So sassy but so cute," Rorie commented bemusedly at the whole situation. “He also gets that from his father.”

"What about me?" Lewis asked as he entered the motorhome. He had just finished a meeting with his engineers, and seeing his family was a welcome sight. "Hey beautiful," Lewis greeted Rorie with a kiss on the lips before turning to Lyric with a big grin. "And hello my little man!"

Lyric giggled in response as Lewis tickled his stomach lightly.

We were just talking about how much Lyric takes after you with his sweet tooth and sassy attitude.”

Lewis chuckled. “Well, I can’t deny that, he’s my son through and through.”

“He definitely has your charm,” Toto added with a grin.

Lyric reached out for his father, wanting to be held. Lewis happily obliged, scooping him up and settling him on his hip.

“So, what have you guys been up to?” Lewis asked as he took a seat next to Rorie on the couch.

“We were just catching up and having some stroopwafels,” Susie answered, offering Lewis one from the bag she had brought.

“Thanks, Susie,” Lewis said gratefully as he took the treat. “Jack and Lyric getting along well?”

“They are inseparable when they’re together,” Rorie replied with a smile. “It’s so cute seeing them together.”

“Jack is learning a lot from you, Lewis,” Toto commented, proud of his son and the relationship he had with his hero.

Lewis shrugged modestly. “I just try to be a good role model for him.”

“Well, it’s working because Jack wants to be just like you when he grows up,” Susie said sincerely.

Lewis grinned from ear to ear. “That means a lot coming from you guys.”

The sound of engines revving in the distance became more pronounced as the afternoon steadily wore on, signaling the start of the Dutch Grand Prix. The paddock was bustling with activity as everyone prepared for the big race.

As the minutes ticked down before lights out, Lewis got dressed in his racing suit. He double-checked all his gear, making sure everything was in its proper place as he mentally prepared himself for the intense race ahead.

Lyric, who was comfortably nestled in his father's arms, looked up at Lewis with adoration shining in his eyes.

"Ready to see daddy in action, little man?" Lewis asked with a smile as he bounced his son gently inside the team’s garage. It was a tradition for Lewis to spend a few minutes with Lyric before every race. It helped him relax and take his mind off the pressure of competing.

Lyric let out a happy squeal in response, causing some of the mechanics to chuckle at the adorable scene between father and son.

"Looks like you have your biggest fan right here," Bono commented with a grin as he watched Lyric playfully tug on one of Lewis's braids.

“I believe I do,” Lewis smiled proudly at Lyric before turning back to get into race mode. He placed an AirPod in his left ear, turning his music on the highest setting possible then hit shuffle on his Race Weekend playlist. Bopping his head to the music, Lewis paced around the garage with Lyric perched on his hip, trying desperately to not make eye contact with the various cameras that surrounded them.

Between the usual F1 media and the camera crew from Netflix, the garage was somewhat filled today; a bit too much for his personal liking, yet fortunately, all of the cameras kept a comforting distance. Though Lewis had an inkling of pride of having footage of these moments with his son during race weekend, Rorie still remained a tad apprehensive with having Lyric in the spotlight.

Silverstone Grand Prix changed their original plan of privacy a little, with some grainy pictures of their son’s face appearing on the internet, thus they had to compromise – allowing pictures and videos to be taken, within reason of course, by various media outlets during races.

The sound of engines revving outside grew louder and more intense as the cars began to line up on the grid.

"I have to go now, little man," Lewis said regretfully as he handed Lyric back to Rorie so she could take him out of the garage before it got too noisy and chaotic.

Rorie gave her husband a kiss on the lips before leaving with Lyric to watch the race inside the paddock club.

Lewis took one last deep breath and focused on the task at hand - winning another Grand Prix, which was proving to be difficult due to the awful car they had this season. After this year, he never wanted to see this model ever again. Between the unpredictability and imbalances, Lewis was beyond the point of being frustrated and his focus was just making it through the remainder of the races.

Nevertheless, the show must go on.

He removed his AirPod and placed it in the designated case then handed his electronics off to Bono for safekeeping. After that, he put on the halo and his helmet. Climbing into his car, Lewis stood on the seat to adjust himself before eventually settling down. With a thumbs up for final confirmation to his team, he drove the car from the garage and onto the grid.

Lewis’ breaths came out in labored pants as he awaited for the familiar sound of "lights out".

When the signal echoed through the circuit and the adrenaline rush kicked in, Lewis's heart raced as he revved his engine, pushing onto the gas pedal at full throttle. The cars ahead of him began to move faster as they approached the first turn, and Lewis followed suit, leaning into the turn as he maneuvered the vehicle with expertise.

His car sliced through the corners, his focus unwavering amidst the chaotic ballet of speed and skill, and Lewis felt a surge of determination course through his veins with each overtake and lap.

Meanwhile, in the luxury of the paddock club, Rorie stood front and center of the large television, her heart pounding in sync with the roar of the engines below. She cradled Lyric in her arms as the toddler rested peacefully on her shoulder, watching with bated breath as Lewis navigated the twists and turns of the circuit with unmatched precision.

"Come on, baby,” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the thunderous noise of the venue. "You've got this, baby.”

Pride and adoration shone in her eyes as she witnessed her husband's mastery on display, a testament to his unwavering passion and commitment to his craft as he overtook one driver after another, somehow managing to go from P13 to P6.

“Come on, get this fuckin’ podium, baby,” she cheered, bouncing on the balls of her feet. The entire ordeal was edging to the max and Rorie couldn't shake the gnawing sense of apprehension that lingered in the back of her mind. With every daring maneuver Lewis executed, she felt a pang of fear tighten around her heart, a reminder of the inherent risks that came with his chosen profession.

Yet, even amidst her worries, she couldn't deny the undeniable thrill that pulsed through her veins, mingling with the electric atmosphere of the paddock club.

"Go, Lewis, go!" she cheered, her voice rising slightly above the din of the crowd. In that moment, as she held their son close and watched her husband chase his dreams on the track, Rorie knew that they were exactly where they were meant to be—bound together by love, courage, and the unbreakable spirit of a racing family. And when he finally reached the checkered flag, three places below a podium, Rorie rooted for him just the same as she would if he won the Grand Prix.

However, a nearby Verstappen fan couldn't resist chiming in. "Why cheer for him? He didn't win," he remarked snidely, pointing to Max Verstappen's victory.

Rorie turned to the fan, a hint of sass in her voice and a smirk playing on her lips as her eyes slowly scanned the disheveled-looking man. "Oh honey," she said, her tone dripping with sarcasm, "you do not know who you’re starting with. Talk to me again when Max becomes the face of F1. And besides," she added with a mischievous glint in her eye, "who needs a first-place finish when you’re the fuckin’ GOAT?”

With a flick of her hair, she turned away from the fan, her unwavering support for her husband shining brighter than ever as she sashayed out of the paddock club to parc ferme. After waiting for ten or so minutes, Lewis appeared, making a beeline to a waiting journalist for his post-race interview, his mind still buzzing from the intensity of the race. As he approached, the journalist greeted him with a smile, ready to delve into the events of the day.

"Hey Lewis, tough race out there," the journalist began, holding out the microphone.

"Yeah, it was a challenging one for sure," Lewis replied, his voice tinged with exhaustion as he wiped his face with a towel.

"Let's talk about those last few laps. You were making some incredible moves out there, starting from P13 and finding your way to P6. What was going through your mind?"

Lewis paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts before responding. "Honestly, I was just trying to stay focused and push as hard as I could. Every position counts, especially on a track like this."

Before the journalist could ask another question, a small voice interrupted from behind them. "Dada!"

Turning around, Lewis's face broke into a grin as he spotted his son, Lyric, grinning at him from his mother’s arms not too far away.

“Dada! Hi!” the toddler said with a happy wave.

"Hey there, little man," Lewis chuckled. "Sorry about that," he said, turning back to the journalist. "Looks like someone wanted to say hi."

The journalist couldn't help but smile at the heartwarming scene unfolding before him. "No worries at all," he replied, his tone softening. "That was actually quite adorable. How does it feel to have your son cheering you on, even after a challenging race like today?"

Lewis's eyes softened as he looked at Lyric, his heart swelling with pride. "It means everything," he said, his voice filled with emotion. "No matter how tough things get on the track, knowing that I have my family supporting me every step of the way gives me the strength to keep pushing forward. I couldn't ask for anything more."

The journalist nodded, touched by Lewis's heartfelt words. "Well, it's clear that you have an incredible support system behind you. And speaking of support, your fans have been rallying behind you all season. What would you like to say to them after today's race?"

"To all my fans out there," Lewis began, his voice carrying a note of appreciation, "thank you for sticking by me through thick and thin. Your unwavering support means the world to me, and I promise to keep fighting for you every time I step onto the track. Today might not have been our day, but with your continued support, I know that we'll bounce back stronger than ever. So, thank you, from the bottom of my heart."

With a final smile at the journalist, he turned to leave, making his way over to his family, and scooping up his son. The cameras absolutely adored this, and tried to take as many pictures as possible as the Hamiltons meandered through the congested paddock.

“It’s the beginning of another great race weekend and we’re in Monza for the Italian Grand Prix!”

Monza held a special place in Rorie's heart, not just because of its rich racing history, but also because it was where she and Lewis had said their vows in a picturesque ceremony at Villa Reale di Monza. Surrounded by close friends and family as well as the beauty of Italy, it was a moment she would always cherish. Things seemed to be falling into place for Rorie - her article for Bustle was receiving positive feedback, she had been invited to some shows during New York Fashion Week, and there were other exciting opportunities on the horizon.

On her way to Monza after dropping off Lyric with Nina, Rorie made a stop in Milan to spend time with Hailey, shop a little, and enjoy lunch together. Although buying overtly expensive items wasn't her thing, Rorie couldn't resist treating herself to something special from Hermes to celebrate her current successes.

The roar of the crowd brought Rorie back to reality. With Lewis starting at P8, she was praying for a miracle, hoping that he would get a podium. She beamed with pride as she watched her husband expertly navigate his car around the track, overtaking his competitors one by one. With each passing lap, her excitement mounted and she couldn't help but dance in her seat. The entire garage was filled with tension and anxiety as Lewis climbed up in the rankings.

But in a split second, disaster struck.

As Lewis attempted to overtake Oscar Piastri, they were side-by-side through Curva Grande, fighting for every inch of space before they soon made contact at the chicane.

Oscar's front wing sustained damage, forcing him to make a pit stop. With his adrenaline pumping, Lewis pushed himself harder than ever before.

"Fuck, didn't see him," Lewis muttered over the radio. Rorie's heart raced at his words, but she tried not to let it show on her face. Instead, she clenched her jaw in frustration - things were not going according to plan.

“You need to box after this lap,” noted Bono as he sat along with the rest of the engineers. “New tyres.”

"Alright," her husband responded.

Leaning over to Bono, she asked, "Will he receive a penalty for this?"

"Yes," Bono replied sadly. "The FIA mentioned a five-second penalty."

“Fuck me,” she groaned with an eye roll just as Lewis was pulling into the pit lane for his tyre change.

"Five second penalty, Lewis," Bono confirmed.

“Fuck me,” was Lewis' response as he sped out of the pits. "I swear I didn't see him; he was in my blind spot."

"I know, I know. Let's just focus on finishing the race," Bono said softly, trying to calm him.

Once the checkered flag flew, Lewis crossed the finish line in sixth place. It was an nice recovery from starting at P8, but it wasn't enough to secure a podium finish.

“I’m sorry,” Lewis said as he climbed out of his car and walked towards her. He looked defeated and exhausted, but Rorie could see the fire still burning in his eyes. She smiled softly and wrapped her arms around him.

“It’s not your fault, baby,” she whispered reassuringly, trying to comfort him. “You did your best.”

Lewis leaned down and kissed her before pulling away to talk briefly to the media waiting for him. When he finished talking to the them, he walked over to Rorie with a tired but content smile on his face.

Lewis's expression softened as he looked at her. "Thank you for always being my rock," he said sincerely.

Rorie smiled and leaned up to give him another kiss before they headed back to their motorhome. As they walked back hand in hand, they were greeted by cheers from the fans who had been waiting for them outside.

“I love you, Lewis!" one fan shouted as they passed by. "You're the GOAT!"

"Thanks so much," Lewis called back with a wave, genuinely touched by their support.

Once inside their motorhome, Rorie watched as Lewis collapsed onto the couch with an exhausted sigh. She grabbed him a bottle of water and sat next to him, running her hands through his braids soothingly. Lewis closed his eyes and let out a content hum, grateful for her touch.

For awhile, despite how noticeably defeated he was, he made a few jokes. He had a habit of using humor to lighten the mood, even in tough situations.

“Seriously though, thank you for always being there for me,” Lewis said, opening his eyes and looking up at her.

“Of course, that’s what I’m here for,” Rorie replied with a smile. “Wifey for lifey.”

“Wifey for lifey.” Lewis smiled tiredly and angled his head closer onto her lap. “You know what would make it even better?” he asked playfully.

“Hmm, I wonder what,” Rorie said, sardonically as she continued to massage his temples.

“Consolation sex,” Lewis grinned mischievously.

Rorie rolled her eyes but couldn’t help but let out a laugh. “You’re ridiculous.”

“But you love me,” Lewis teased, winking up at her.

Rorie leaned down and kissed him gently before pulling away with a smirk. “Yes, I do.”

“You know we still have some time before your flight in the morning…” Lewis trailed off suggestively. Rorie had a flight back home to Monaco early tomorrow morning. She was planning to spend a few days with Lyric before she had to go to New York.

Rorie raised an eyebrow at Lewis and smirked. “Are you suggesting what I think you’re suggesting?”

Lewis gave her a crooked grin. “I’m always up for some consolation sex.”

“I know you are with your little freaky ass. I have an early flight,” Rorie reminded him, trying to be responsible. “Like a real early flight.”

“Oh come on,” Lewis pleaded playfully. “We can make it quick.”

“That’s what you always say,” Rorie teased, knowing full well that Lewis was never satisfied with just a quick session.

“Throw me a bone here, woman,” he said with puppy-dog eyes. “My car is shit and I’m not performing the way I want to perform. Can’t a man try to impregnate his wife in peace?”

Rorie shook her head at Lewis’s attempt to convince her to have sex with him.

“Fine,” she relented, giving in to his puppy-dog eyes. “But make it quick.”

Lewis grinned and wasted no time in jumping up excitedly, pulling Rorie onto his lap and kissing her passionately. “Bring that ass over here, Mrs. Hamilton.”

Rorie giggled into the kiss, knowing exactly how this would play out. “Yes, Sir.” That comment earned her a growl from Lewis.

“Don’t tease me,” he warned as he carried her towards the bedroom.

“And if I want to?” Rorie quipped as she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him deeper, feeling the familiar electricity between them. They stumbled into the bedroom, and Lewis kicked the door shut behind them and gently laid Rorie down on the bed.

“God, I miss you,” he mumbled against her lips as he began to remove her blouse.

“I miss you too,” Rorie said between kisses as she ran her hands down his torso.

“You drive me crazy, do you know that?” Lewis’ eyes never left hers as he parted her legs wider to fit in between them. “You like that shit, don’t you, baby?” He lifted a leg, leaning closer to place a soft kiss on her ankle. Rorie moaned at the tender sensation, arching her back into a bow, her lids heavy with desire as she allowed him to pull off her pants. “You know how crazy I get ‘bout you right?”

She squirmed when he kissed her bare inner thigh. “Yes…baby…I know.”

“You know?” he whispered against her thigh, inching closer and closer to her panty-clad sex. His nose glazed over her womanhood, inhaling deeply as he savored her scent. “You know I’m ‘bout to tear this shit up, right?”

Fuck, I need you right now, she thought. Words escaped her at that moment, so all she could manage to do was nod.

Chuckling softly, Lewis wasted no time in taking off the last remaining clothing that covered her bottom half, delving into her pussy with unimaginable fervor. His fingers eventually joined his tongue, exploring her moist depths as the sounds of her slickness and cries of pleasure reverberated across the room.

"Just like that, baby," she moaned and Lewis hummed in acknowledgment, which sent a buzzing sensation through her body. He knew exactly how to touch her, how to make her lose control. And as much as Rorie wanted to hold on to the moment forever, she also craved for the release that only Lewis could give her.

Her hands found their way to his hair, tugging and pulling as he continued his ministrations. Lewis groaned against her skin, clearly enjoying the reaction he was getting from her. His fingers moved faster, his tongue working harder until Rorie's entire body trembled with pleasure.

"Fuck," she cried out as she finally reached her peak, waves of ecstasy washing over her. Lewis didn't stop though; he continued to pleasure her until she begged him to stop, tears of pleasure streaming down her face. Rorie lay on the bed, panting heavily as she tried to catch her breath.

"That's a good girl," he smiled, very cockily as he moved from her to sit on his haunches. She watched him curiously as he spread her juices into his beard.

"You’re nasty as fuck," she commented breathlessly.

"What?" Lewis grinned boyishly. “This shit helps the beard get fuller.”

"No, it doesn't," she stated matter-of-factly. “There’s no scientific proof that pussy fluids does that.”

“Mind your business, woman,” Lewis chuckled, pulling her to him.

Their lips met in a passionate embrace, his tongue teasing hers as he explored her mouth. As they kissed, Rorie could taste herself on his lips and it only made her want him more. She moaned into his mouth, lost in the moment and the intensity of their chemistry.

"Shit's good, huh?" he murmured against her lips before nipping at her lower lip. "You taste like nirvana."

“Nirvana? Really?”

“Yes.”

"You're such a weirdo," she teased as she straddled him.

"I'm a weirdo that knows how to please you," he countered, his hands gripping her hips tightly. “Are you gonna ride this dick or are you gonna play?”

There was never a dull moment with Lewis, that was for sure. But she couldn't deny the fact that he did indeed know how to please her in ways that no one else ever had. Rorie discarded the rest of his clothing. Moving her hips against his, she grinded into his hard length before sliding fully down his shaft. Lewis groaned and bucked up into her as she picked up the pace, riding him as if there was no tomorrow.

"Fuck," he muttered, gripping her hips tighter as she rode him harder. "You're so wet for me."

"I always am," she replied breathlessly, feeling herself getting closer to another orgasm. “Only you can make me this wet.”

Lewis smirked and flipped them over so he was on top, thrusting into her with a newfound intensity. Rorie wrapped her legs around him, pulling him closer as their bodies moved together in perfect sync.

"You feel so fucking good," Lewis groaned, his face inches from hers.

"You too," Rorie managed to say between moans and gasps.

Their bodies moved faster and harder, the sound of their skin slapping together echoing through the room. And just when Rorie thought she couldn't take it anymore, Lewis leaned down and whispered in her ear.

"Come for me," he said huskily before biting down on her neck.

That was all it took for Rorie to shatter into a million pieces, screaming out Lewis's name as waves of pleasure washed over her once again. Lewis collapsed next to Rorie on the bed and pulled her close to him. They lay there in silence for a few minutes, just basking in each other’s warmth and presence.

“I needed that,” Lewis finally broke the silence, his voice hoarse with emotion.

“Me too,” Rorie replied, sighing happily. “I love you.”

“I love you too, baby.”

They lay together in quiet bliss for a while longer then Lewis sat up and reached for his phone on the nightstand.

"What are you doing?" Rorie asked curiously as she propped herself up on one elbow.

"I'm ordering us some food," he replied with a grin before placing an order at his team’s hospitality center. They usually had everything set up until late on race weekends to feed all the staff and crew.

Rorie laughed at his predictability but snuggled closer to him nonetheless. They were interrupted by a knock on the door not even a twenty minutes later.

"Damn, that was quick," Rorie commented as Lewis wrapped a towel around his waist to get their food.

He came back with two large containers of food and a huge smile on his face. "I told you they're getting better with everything, but honestly I don’t think it takes much to fuck up fries, hummus, and black bean burgers.”

"Wow, you really went all out," Rorie said as she opened one of the containers and took a bite of the burger.

"Well, I wanted to make sure my girl is well-fed after that workout we just had," Lewis replied with a wink.

Rorie rolled her eyes but couldn't hide her smile. "You're such a goofball."

"But you love me," Lewis teased, cupping her chin.

"Unfortunately, yes," Rorie joked, playfully swatting his hand away.

They continued to enjoy their food in comfortable silence until Lewis broke it by asking, "So what do you want to do tonight?"

"Hmm, how about we watch a movie?" Rorie suggested.

"Sounds good to me," Lewis agreed before getting up to put on some sweatpants and choosing a movie from Netflix. They cuddled up on the couch and watched the movie while finishing off their food.

“Are you gonna miss me when I’m in New York?” she wondered, batting her eyelashes adorably at him. Lewis was silent for several beats and then he shot her a look. “Lewis!”

“What?” he answered in feigned innocence, a laugh escaping him. “Oh, baby, you know I will,” he clarified in a serious tone, pulling her into his arms.

“Mmmhmm.” Rorie gave him a dismissive wave. “I don’t believe it.”

Lewis raised an eyebrow at her. “Why not?”

“Because,” she replied offhandedly, “you probably won’t have time to think about anything else but racing.”

Lewis chuckled and hugged her tighter. “That’s not true, baby. I’ll always make time for you. And that tight, wet pussy of yours.” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively, causing her to throw a balled napkin at his face.

Rorie rolled her eyes at Lewis’ playful antics and let out a laugh. She knew he was just trying to lighten the mood, but she couldn’t help the twinge of sadness she felt at the thought of her leaving for New York in a few days.

“Stop it,” she scolded with a smile.

“Sorry, sorry,” Lewis apologized, trying to contain his laughter. “I promise I’ll miss you like crazy when you’re gone.”

Rorie gave him a mock glare before snuggling back into his chest. “You better.”

“Promise me something?” he asked.

“Anything,” Rorie replied without hesitation.

“Promise me that you’ll take care of yourself and be safe,” he said, his voice laced with concern. “I know it gets crazy everywhere, but make sure you check-in with me throughout your time there.”

“I promise.”

They continued watching the movie in comfortable silence, enjoying each other’s presence.

Rorie emerged from the taxi, taking a moment to absorb her surroundings. New York City's energy and constant bustle never failed to rejuvenate her. She still couldn't believe she was here, about to be a special guest at New York Fashion Week. Before meeting Lewis, she had only been to a few post-show parties as a regular attendee, but now she had VIP status and her entire week was filled with front row seats at top designer shows and exclusive invitations to the hottest parties.

She quickly sent a text to Lewis, letting him know that she had arrived safely. She waited for a response but when none came, she assumed he was still on the plane to Singapore.

As she made her way into the lobby of her hotel, she couldn’t help but feel a bit nervous about her upcoming schedule. But she pushed those thoughts aside and focused on checking in.

The concierge greeted her with a warm smile. “Welcome to The Ritz-Carlton. How may I help you?” he said.

“Checking in for Aurora Hamilton.”

The concierge typed on his computer's keyboard. “Ah, yes, Mrs. Hamilton. We just finished cleaning your suite and someone will be escorting you up there shortly.”

Rorie raised an eyebrow in confusion. “My suite?” she questioned.

“Yes, we received a last-minute request for an upgrade,” the concierge explained.

Rorie couldn’t believe it. “I’m sorry, what? Who requested an upgrade?” She only booked a room with a view of Central Park, still pricey but nothing like a suite.

Before the concierge could answer, a bellhop appeared and gestured for her to follow him. She thanked the concierge before making her way towards the elevators with the bellhop and her luggage trolley in tow.

When Rorie entered her suite, she was amazed by its spaciousness and elegance. A small dining area greeted her, followed by a large living room furnished with comfortable sofas. The floor-to-ceiling windows provided a breathtaking view of Central Park.

“Thank you for choosing The Ritz, ma’am,” the bellhop said as he finished unloading her luggage. Rorie smiled and handed him a generous tip. “Thank you,” he replied gratefully.

Without another word, he left her to her own devices. Rorie placed her shoulder bag on the dining room table then made her way to the bedroom to freshen up. As she walked into the bedroom, she let out a squeal when her eyes landed on the huge bouquet of roses on the bed.

“No fuckin’ way!”

She walked over to the bouquet of flowers and took a deep whiff as she read the card attached. No surprise that it was from her husband.

I saw that you booked a room and I had to fix that. My queen only stays in suites. Love you Aurora Borealis and enjoy your time at NYFW. - Your Baby Daddy P.S. Hurry back so we can finish our job of making a sibling for Lyric.

Rorie couldn’t help but laugh at Lewis’ note. He always had a way of making her feel special and loved, even from thousands of miles away. She took a picture of the flowers and sent it to Lewis with a message thanking him for the surprise.

Rorie decided to take a quick shower before heading out to explore the city some more. As she turned on the water, her phone finally buzzed with a text from Lewis:

Just landed. Glad you’re safe and like the suite. Call you later?

She quickly typed out a reply:

Yeah. Call me whenever you’re free.

After her shower, Rorie dressed in a lounge set and sifted through emails while she waited for Lewis’ call. Around eleven in the morning, Rorie’s phone buzzed with an incoming FaceTime request from her husband. Despite the time difference, and being almost midnight in Singapore, he still managed to call her.

Rorie eagerly answered and was greeted with a tired but happy-looking Lewis. “Hey, babe,” he said, his voice warm and filled with love.

“Hi, baby,” Rorie replied, her heart melting at the sight of him.

“How was your flight?” Lewis asked as he settled into bed, propping himself up against the headboard.

“It was good. No delays or anything.” Rorie replied as she made herself comfortable on the couch in her suite.

“That’s good to hear. How’s the hotel?” Lewis asked, glancing around at the luxurious surroundings behind Rorie.

“It’s amazing. Thank you for surprising me with the suite.” Rorie smiled gratefully at her husband.

“I know how much you love your space and comfort. Plus, it’s only fitting for my queen to stay in a suite,” Lewis said with a smirk, making Rorie laugh.

They chatted for a while longer before Lewis announced that he needed to get some sleep since he had an early start in the morning. As they said their goodbyes and ‘I love yous’, Rorie couldn’t help but feel grateful for having such a loving and supportive husband.

Rorie decided to take advantage of her free time and explore the city. She started by walking through Central Park, taking in its beauty and serenity. She then made her way to Fifth Avenue to do some shopping.

As she walked into one of her favorite designer stores, she was greeted by friendly staff who recognized her from previous visits. After trying on several outfits and discussing options with one of the sales associates, she finally settled on a stunning red dress that hugged her curves perfectly.

Feeling satisfied with her purchase, Rorie continued exploring Fifth Avenue before heading back to the hotel to get ready for dinner with KiKi and some other friends. They decided to go to TAO Downtown for dinner. Rorie arrived at the restaurant and was greeted by KiKi and their friends with enthusiastic hugs. The group settled into their table, surrounded by plush velvet booths and dimly lit lanterns.

“Girl! You really out here doing big things!” KiKi exclaimed proudly at her beloved friend. “Thank you for the shoutout in your Bustle interview. Business has been crazy!”

Rorie smiled humbly, "You’re welcome, sweetie, and thank you."

The group ordered a variety of dishes to share, catching up on each other’s lives and reminiscing about old times.

After dinner, they headed to a rooftop bar nearby for drinks and dancing. They sipped on cocktails and danced under the stars, and it was nearing midnight when Rorie decided it was time to call it a night. Her body clock was still adjusting to the time difference, and she didn’t want to be exhausted for her first day of fashion shows tomorrow.

Couple Days Later....

Fashion Show. Photoshoot for a campaign. Meeting. Another meeting. Party. Fashion Show. Interview. Party.

Rorie’s schedule was packed for the week. Thus far, she attended three shows: Kate Spade, Brandon Maxwell, and Ulla Johnson. Tonight, she was attending the Khaite fashion show. The Khaite fashion show was held at a beautiful, ornate mansion in the Upper East Side. Rorie arrived early to ensure she could catch up with designer, Catherine Holstein.

As she walked through the doors of the mansion, she was greeted by the sounds of live music and the smell of fresh flowers. The venue was stunning, with high ceilings adorned with crystal chandeliers and marble floors.

Rorie found Catherine backstage, busy making finishing touches to her models' outfits. She hugged Rorie excitedly before showing her around and introducing her to some of the other attendees.

The show began shortly after, with Rorie seated in the front row amongst other A-list celebrities. She watched in awe as the models strutted down the runway in stunning pieces from Catherine’s collection. The designs were elegant, yet modern, and Rorie could see herself wearing many of them for future events.

After the show ended, Rorie posed for the paparazzi, flashing her most glamorous smile and striking a few poses. She knew these pictures would be all over the media tomorrow. Making her way out of the mansion, Rorie was stopped by a group of fans who wanted to take pictures with her. She happily obliged, feeling grateful for their support before hopping into her waiting SUV to be driven to yet another afterparty.

The afterparty was hosted at a popular hot spot in the Meatpacking District and filled with top models, designers, and other notable figures in the industry. The music was loud, and the drinks were flowing as Rorie mingled and caught up with everyone.

As she made her way to the bar for another drink, her phone began to vibrate with an incoming FaceTime call from Lewis. She made her a beeline to the balcony of the party venue, eager for a quiet place to catch up with her busy husband.

“Hey baby,” Rorie greeted him with a smile, admiring his handsome face on the screen.

“Hey beautiful,” Lewis replied, returning her smile. “How’s your day been?”

“It’s been amazing,” Rorie gushed, taking in the sights and sounds of New York City in the background. “I’ve attended some incredible shows today and met some amazing people. I've been keeping updated on everything. How do you feel about quali today?"

Lewis smiled at her question, knowing that she was always supportive and interested in his career. “I feel really good about it. I’ve been practicing hard and I think I have a good chance at qualifying well.”

Rorie nodded, impressed by his determination and dedication. “I have no doubt that you’ll do amazing. I wish you could be here with me though,” Rorie sighed wistfully.

“I know, baby,” Lewis said sympathetically. “But we’ll have plenty of time together after this hectic week is over.”

Rorie's phone rang, indicating another call, and it was Yael on the line. At the same time, Lewis’ phone chirped repeatedly from receiving texts.

"Baby, I have to take this," she said. "Yael keeps calling me about something."

"That's strange," Lewis remarked. "Penni won't stop texting me either. Let me call you back, my love."

Rorie quickly ended the FaceTime call with Lewis and answered Yael’s call. "Hey, what’s going on?" she asked.

"Rorie, we have a problem," Yael said urgently. "Penni and I have been on the phone for the last three hours trying to stop this, but we can’t."

Rorie felt her heart drop. "What happened? Is everything okay?"

"No, it's not okay," Yael replied. "The Sun just posted a story about your family. Something about an affair between your mother and her former boss."

"What do you mean they posted a story?" Rorie asked, feeling confused and a tad irritated.

"I mean exactly that," Yael said with frustration evident in her voice. "Someone leaked this story to them and now it's blowing up all over social media."

A feeling of despair washed over Rorie as she considered the repercussions this could have on her family. She had never had any contact with her biological father, and there were countless reasons for that. One being his irresponsibility and refusal to acknowledge her existence, despite being just as involved in the affair as her mother. But all that didn't matter, because her stepfather stepped up as a father figure and provided for her and her sister. Rorie never held her mother's mistake against her, but that didn't mean she wanted the whole world to know about it.

"We've been trying to do damage control, but it's spreading like wildfire," Yael said. "That’s not the worst of it though."

Rorie had a sinking feeling in her stomach as she listened to Yael's words. "What else is there?" she asked, dreading the answer.

"They were snooping around in your health records. They know about Lyric," Yael said, gravely. "I mean his full name, how he was conceived, everything, but they way there are twisting it…Jesus Christ, it’s fucking disgusting."

"What should I do?" Rorie asked desperately.

"We need you to come back to the hotel immediately," Yael said firmly. "We'll figure out our next steps from there."

Feeling overwhelmed and anxious, Rorie rushed out of the party and made her way back to the hotel as fast as she could. She tried calling Lewis on the way, but he didn't answer.

Once she arrived at the hotel, she was bombarded by reporters and paparazzi asking for a statement about the leaked information.

"I have no comment at this time," Rorie managed to say before being ushered inside by members of her team.

In their suite, Yael briefed Rorie on what had happened so far while mentioning that Penni was working on damage control.

"We're doing everything we can to contain this," Yael stated. "Obviously, this is a huge privacy violation. Penni spoke with your and Lewis’ lawyers—"

"Lawyers?" Rorie interrupted with surprise. "Why do we need lawyers? Did Lewis agree to this?"

Yael looked at her in disbelief. "You don't see this as a potential legal issue? Your personal information and your child's information was leaked without your consent."

Rorie felt a wave of panic wash over her. She hadn't even thought about the legal implications of this situation, she was too focused on the emotional toll it would take on her family.

"But we don't know who leaked it," Rorie said, feeling overwhelmed. "We only know that it was The Sun, correct?"

"Yes, but we have some leads. Nothing concrete yet," Yael replied. "And the story they published about your parentage is really fucked."

Rorie's heart sank as she thought about how this would affect her mother and stepfather. They had worked so hard to build their reputation and now it was being tarnished by tabloids.

"Have you talked to them yet?" Rorie asked, feeling guilty for not being able to protect them from this.

"I've been trying, but they're avoiding my calls," Yael said grimly. "I don't blame them, I wouldn't want to talk to me either if I were in their shoes. You should give them a call later."

"Yeah, I should. Fuck me." Feeling helpless and overwhelmed, Rorie slumped onto the couch in her suite. She couldn't believe how quickly things had spiraled out of control.

"Okay, let's go over our plan," Yael said, trying to stay focused.

"Plan?" Rorie asked confused.

"Yes, our damage control plan," Yael replied firmly. "We need to get ahead of this story before it gets even more out of hand."

Rorie nodded and listened as Yael outlined their plan of action. They would release a statement threatening legal action against anyone who violated her privacy and released this information.

Once her meeting with Yael was over, she spoke with her parents, who were understandably upset about the leaked information. They were worried about their reputation, but ultimately how this would affect Rorie and Lewis.

"We'll get through this together," Rorie assured them over the phone, fighting back tears.

"I just can't believe someone would do this to you," her stepfather, Greg sighed. "We'll have our lawyers look into it as well."

Rorie appreciated their support, but she couldn't shake the feeling of betrayal. Someone close to her must have been involved in leaking the information.

"How are you holding up, honey?" her mother, Marian, wondered. "They’re so nasty towards you about your IVF journey. Lord knows the pain you and Lewis went through in order to have Lyric…and they…I-I’m so sorry, Aurora."

Rorie took a deep breath, trying to hold back her emotions. "It's okay, Mom. We've been through worse," she said, though she didn't quite believe it herself.

"How’s Lewis? We didn’t hear from him yet," wondered Greg.

"He’s still speaking with Penni and our lawyers. He sent me a text not that long ago. I should be getting a call from him soon."

After her conversation with her parents, Rorie spent the rest of the night in a daze. She couldn't believe that someone had invaded her privacy and used her struggles with fertility against her. And to make matters worse, they were now dragging her family through the mud as well. As she lay in bed that night, unable to sleep, Rorie's mind raced with questions: Who could have done this? And why now?

She promised herself that whoever was responsible would face the severe consequences. Rorie never played games when it came to protecting her family, especially when it involved her child.

TO BE CONTINUED.....

#emjayewrites #sir lewis hamilton #lewis hamilton #lewis hamilton fanfic #sir lewis hamilton x black!reader #lewis hamilton x black!reader #formula one fanfiction #formula one x black reader #private landing

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french-vanilla-in-the-clouds · 2 years

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𝐅𝐢𝐱𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐊 𝐗 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Sherlock and Y/N have always teased each other relentlessly, claiming one was fixated on the other. One day while on a case, they realize that their banter holds a ring of truth. Fluff!!!

𝐑𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲: Anonymous

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"Sherlock, its my day off. Explain to me what I'm doing at Barts." Lestrade checked his watch and sighed. "I've already missed the game's first half! This had better be good."

Sherlock sat hunched over his microscope. "It's important," he said, eyeing his work. "It's about your bank robbery, actually. There were palm prints left behind that can be traced back to the suspects."

Lestrade perked up. "You've got a match, then? That's great! I'll send out the cavalry."

"Don't be absurd," Sherlock scoffed. "The results are still processing. We'll know in a few hours."

"I don't understand. Why am I here, then?"

Sherlock peered up innocently. "You told me to keep you updated."

"Bloody hell, you should have texted me!" Lestrade cried, throwing his hands up in the air. "I had to take a cab straight from the other end of the city! Now you're telling me to wait here, twiddling my thumbs while you work?"

Sherlock blinked up at the detective inspector. "My apologies," he said, turning back to his work table.

Lestrade's hands were itching to wring Sherlock's neck when Y/N walked through the lab doors. Her shoes clicked against the linoleum flooring; she was clearly in a rush. "I'm here!" she called, nearly crashing into a rack of instruments.

"About time," Sherlock sing-songed.

Lestrade stared after her curiously. "I thought you'd sit this one out. Didn't seem like Sherlock here needed any help. He even let John off his leash today. I figured I was the only one he suckered into coming in."

"I called, she came," Sherlock cut in. "Perks of having an ardent fan. She's infatuated with me, you know."

Y/N raised a brow, amused. "I know you're desperate for my attention, Sherlock, but let's take it down a notch, alright?" She turned to Lestrade and shrugged. "He called, I came."

Sherlock grinned.

Lestrade glanced at the two of them, unimpressed. Since he'd know the pair, they had always maintained the running joke that one was fixated with the other. Though it had started off as friendly banter, everyone was convinced that there were hidden affections beneath the snark of their words.

"I'm glad you're here at any rate," Lestrade said. "I've got the media breathing down my neck because of these blasted robberies. Maybe you can help him speed things up." He glared at Sherlock on the last bit.

Y/N nodded. "I can try, but I'm not sure if there's much I can do. You know that Holmes is the expert in these matters. He'll figure it out soon enough."

Sherlock smirked. "How very confident you are in my abilities. Though I would advise caution on your part." He lowered his voice to a teasing whisper. "Your obsession is showing."

Y/N feigned exhaustion. "Just as delusional as ever," she sighed. "Now, are you going to sit there grinning at me like a lovesick schoolboy or are you going to solve the case?"

"Right then," he chuckled.

Lestrade darted his eyes between the pair, taken aback for a moment by their unabashed flirting. He rubbed a hand over his temples, annoyed that he had missed the football match for this.

"It's in for a penny, in for a pound with you lot isn't it?" He sighed, glancing at his watch.

"Oh, do lighten up, Inspector," Sherlock said cheerily. "Miss Y/N is simply enraptured by my intellectual prowess. We can't hold that against her."

"Don't you start!" she laughed. "Everybody knows that you're the one who's hopelessly in love with me. You might as well admit to it!"

Sherlock leaned back in his seat. He quirked a brow and studied Y/N. His eyes glinted playfully. "Very well then," he said with confidence. "I'm in love with you."

The room was quiet for a moment. The only sound was the buzzing of the industrial lighting up above. Sherlock folded his hands together casually, awaiting Y/N's response.

"Well?" He asked, amused. "Has the cat got your tongue?"

Y/N narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "You weren't supposed to say that."

"Say what?"

"That you love me."

"Why not?"

"Because you don't mean it."

Sherlock tilted his head to the side. "Don't I?"

"Oh for crying out loud!" Lestrade laughed. "You two idiots obviously fancy each other! Can we fast-forward the mock surprise and get on to better things?"

Y/N turned to Sherlock, grinning. "Is the detective inspector right?" she asked. "Do you really fancy me?"

Sherlock winked. "Against my better judgment, I can assure you."

She stepped towards his work table and pulled at the collar of his dress shirt. "I knew you would be the first to admit it. Sherlock Holmes, you're positively fixated on me, aren't you?"

He shrugged. "Guilty as charged. Now, what would you say to lunch? Granted, Bart's cafeteria food is mediocre at best, but I'm sure you'll be beset with thoughts of me anyway."

"You might be onto something there. Lead the way, Holmes."

Though nothing much had changed between them, the recognition of something already there lightened their steps to the door. Lestrade watched as the pair left the lab without so much as a goodbye, their eyes locked only on each other.

"In for a penny, in for a pound," Lestrade smiled. "That's how it is around here."

He relaxed against the counter and settled in for a long wait. He checked his watch; the game had ended. Lestrade let out a contented breath.

He didn't mind at all.

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Hey! Try reading Painted Faces!

Thanks to the anon who requested this! Sorry about the long wait!!!! 💖🧁

If you’d like to be tagged in any future Sherlock fics, just tell me in the comments! (and if you’d rather not be tagged in ALL Sherlock fics, please specify; EX: Reader x Sherlock, Reader x John Watson...)

Requests are open!

tagging: @spencerrxids @i-beg-your-pardon-laufeyson @lucywrites02 @danzalladaggers @mrs-holmes @twisted-monster @starryeddie @high-functioning-lokipath @the-chaotic-cow @turkisherlockian @kabubsmagga @aephereal @andthevillainshallrises @baby-bloos @cookiemumster1 @eternal-silvertongued-prince @bogginsreadings @lumosouls @waiting-for-cas-to-save-me

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kitchenisking · 1 year

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Seires Fic Rec Part 10

DAY 4

A Wolf Lovin' Son by PervDia - (Wolf Lovin') - (Rating: Mature, Words: 1032, sterek)

Stiles gets caught having sex with Derek in wolf form by his father, who now thinks his son might need therapy. Serious therapy since his son insists on calling the large canine his boyfriend.

Feels Like Fire In My Veins by Sterekism - (Machine Shenanigans) - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 7247, sterek)

For Meeya, who is lovely and awesome and is a crazy enabling pervert. This fic is the result of her cheerleading. ---

The thing had cost him most of his allowance from the past 3 months and all the money he’d collected doing yard work and other shores for practically the entire neighborhood. But he finally had it. The Lovebotz Maestro Sex Machine came with a universal adapter and could go up to 300 rounds per minute.

Fall at Your Feet by Echoesineternity - (In Love not Given Lightly) - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 5513, sterek)

It's been two years since the end of Season 6. Stiles has spent two years at UC Irvine having a relatively normal college life. He's managed to maintain a 4.0 GPA, stayed friends with Lydia after their relationship fizzled out, and kept his crush on a certain Sourwolf quiet. When the entire pack spends a night drinking and playing games certain truths are learned and an embarrassing incident might be the best thing that ever happened to Stiles.

Speed Dating for Dummies by sperrywink - (Sweet, Sweet Porn) - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 7411, sterek)

For the insmallpackages prompt-- Ficlet Teen Wolf Derek/Stiles - speed dating and/or matchmaking AU., but this is mostly just porn. Seriously, so much porn, omg.

Birthdays Suck by Unloyal_Olio - (The One Where Derek Wants to Make Stiles His Mate and It's Blatant Porn) - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 2338, sterek)

Stiles backs away until his butt hits a stool. "Um, I'm used to the version of Derek that sort of toler-hates me, so you being flirt-hate-cious—total mind fuck, dude. Mind fuck."

Unfortunately, Derek has no sense of humor.

Welcome to the Pack, Omega by alisvolatpropiis - (Alpha Stiles) - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 4707, sterek)

"Derek Hale is a wandering Omega looking for a pack to call his own. When he comes into Beacon Hills, he’s intercepted by the local pack. They take him to their Alpha who Derek is expecting to be an older werewolf. What he’s not expecting is for this kid that can’t be more than 20, with the smirk playing about his kissable looking lips, to be the Alpha. Needless to say, they don’t exactly get off on the right foot. But, Derek thinks later that night, he could easily find his home in Beacon Hills with Stiles Stilinski and his pack."

When You Wish Upon a Dragon by lupinus - (Dragon Verse) - (Rating: T, Words: 13739, sterek)

Stiles is at the Hale house, lounging on the front stoop watching Isaac, Erica, and Boyd wrestle, when the baby comes running out of the woods. Derek becomes instant father to a magically appearing baby and falls in love. Stiles can’t take the cute and worries Derek’s heart will break if he loses the kid.

Fight Me, Helen by thedevilyousay - (Derek vs. Helen) - (Rating: T, Words: 1664, sterek)

Important OTP question: Which one aggressively argues with the suburban soccer moms at the PTA meeting and flips Helen’s 9x12 pan of betty crocker brownies?

Jurisdiction by elisera - (Jurisdiction) - (Rating: Mature, Words: 7025, sterek)

John is a pretty level-headed guy. He wasn’t always, back during his own Sturm und Drang period, but he married a firecracker of a woman and got a kid with an affinity for trouble like he got payed for ending up in it, so someone had to level out or they would’ve ended up living in a treehouse or Lapland doing god knows what. Anyway, getting a hold of his temper is one of John’s better life achievements. It makes him a good sheriff and it kept him from blowing his lid too badly those last two years when Stiles started acting out in a way that John had never seen before.

But the temper is still there.

He’s reminded of it when he comes home on a random Saturday in March after spilling his milkshake all over his uniform shirt only to notice he didn’t have a spare in the station and finds Stiles bend over the kitchen sink with hunched shoulders.

Beg so Pretty by DefNotForWork - (Daddy Stiles) - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 1900, sterek)

On a weekly basis, Derek looks to the heavens and prays with every fiber inside of him that he might be granted the ability to go back in time and keep his werewolfy teeth far away from Erica Reyes.

Or the one where Erica "accidentally" calls Stiles Daddy and Derek can't get over it.

#stiles x derek #stiles stilinski #derek hale #fanfiction #fanfic #seriesficrec #kitcheniskingficrecs

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anechomirrored · 6 months

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Prompt: "What if we're wrong?"

Fandom: Fnaf Security Breach, Accidently Undercover

Rating: G

Warnings: mild anxiety

You took a steadying breath and stepped off the elevator. The top floor was much different from the bustling floors you had just left behind. People were always coming and going from the lower lobbies and varying facilities this complex offered; however, up here the corridors spoke of refinement and only people who were meant to be here walked them.

You were not one of those people meant to be here.

Adjusting your portable vac pack on theatrically sagging shoulders you walked calmly forward. A small cleaning caddy full of various small job supplies swung gently in hand as you move.

A group of suits and blazers suddenly exited a door a ways ahead of you. Their speech spilling from the doorway echoed down the empty hall towards you. They were talking idly about where the best spot for lunch would be.

Nothing important to your purpose here.

You resisted the urge to speed up, maintaining your casual and tired demeanor as you passed each other in the pristine hallway.

They didn't give you a second glance entering the elevator and letting the door close behind them.

You continued your ambling walk stopping only when you reached your target destination. It was a large room set up specifically for board meetings. Producing a swipe card you'd found in the left drawer of an unattended security desk you breathe a silent sigh of relief when the door opens.

Outside of your current soundtrack, you are met with the welcome silence of an empty room.

Time to get cleaning.

You started up the industrial vaccum, turning up your music as you attended to the already immaculate carpet. While doing this, you stooped under the table, making sure to linger around the large meeting table. Fighting with imaginary tough spots, at one point you placed a small electronic mic on the underside of the table top next to the inner most side of one of the legs.

In about an hour this room was booked for an outwardly dry meeting about annuals and next years projections. That wasn't all that was being discussed, though.

There were discussions planned to go down at this meeting with persons in attendance that the agency had a particular interest in at this time.

You continued to clean the rest of the room putting on a show for any eyes that may be drawn to you by the sound.

Thankfully, you were left undisturbed.

Giving the table a wipe with a cloth and whatever cleaning solution you'd jacked from that one janitors' closet you collected you things and headed for the door.

Collision.

You staggered back as a shirt and tie ran headlong into you. Papers went flying and you tumbled backwards as papers fluttered to the floor.

You weren't much of a reader but the now half empty file folder in the other person's arms sported an all to commonly seen word.

CONFIDENTIAL

The shirt and tie was still standing in the doorway, a stunned expression on his face. You recognized this guy from your mission briefing.

A rookie that had been making a name for himself with the opposition.

You widened your eyes. Apologies tumbled from your lips, as you began gathering up the papers that had fallen around you.

As you fluttered about, back half turned and gathering papers your enemy agent seemed to come to his senses.

"Don't touch those!"

With all the startle of a humble cleaner in a tv drama you drop the papers to the floor and wheel about, apologies beginning once again.

The suit waves you off and clutching your cleaning caddy you make a speedy exit.

He would count the papers and find them accounted for. What he wouldn't find was the bug now carefully secured to his person. You really had to shake the hand of the lab tech who managed to make one so unobtrusive and easy to deploy.

It was genius.

The folks in Comms would likely have their hands full for the next few hours.

Ditching your caddy back in the closet you were out the doors and three blocks away before the meeting was due to begin.

A new message.

Your earbuds chimed and with a tap to the right, you had the little automated voice rattling off the text.

It was from DJ.

You had been surprised when he'd asked for your number. Sure you had stuck around after close for a few nights now but the novelty of having someone ask you about your day had yet to wear off. You hadn't had anyone that close since...

"Agent Reverb, do you copy?" With a quick tap of your earbuds you respond to the comms channel.

No Sunflower today. The tired voice on the other end made you smile though.

"Agent Reverb, checking in. Good afternoon, Agent Puck."

"Hey, did you find the board room?" Puck asked.

Her and Sunflower were the two agents you spoke to most. You were still warming up to the idea of socializing at work but the last encounter with Puck in the break room had gone well. You smile and nod, even though Puck couldn't see the gesture.

"Mission accomplished. Your intel was good, as always. I even bumped into the rookie. Left a little bug for him too."

"That's great! I have some new songs for you, by the way." Puck added.

"Oh?" Your stride stuttered and you made a show of pulling out your phone as you stepped to the side of the walkway, looking at it. "Thanks, I'll...I'll send you a few back."

When the call ended you didn't start walking again right away. Instead, staring at the blank phone screen. Your reflection looking back at you, conflicted.

First DJ, then Puck. It felt nice to be able to talk, to have a connection with people beyond professional obligations. This city was different. Maybe you could afford to make a few friends.

"What if we're wrong?" Your reflection asked, brow furrowed.

Then the screen lit up.

Puck had sent the songs and just below it was DJ's message inviting you out to tonight's gig.

You started up the first song and took a breath.

"Won't know unless we try, Revee."

#fictober23 #accidently undercover fanwork #fnaf djmm #secret agents #agent reverb #agent puck #under the eaves and moving to beats #under the eaves

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searchenginesmaster · 10 months

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Joey Chestnut is still the hot dog eating champion. This is how many calories he ate during the event.

In an astounding display of gastronomic prowess, Joey Chestnut once again reigned supreme as the undisputed hot dog eating champion. The annual event, held in front of a captivated crowd, witnessed Chestnut devour an astonishing number of hot dogs, solidifying his status as a legend in competitive eating. With jaw-dropping determination, he consumed an incredible amount of calories throughout the contest, leaving spectators in awe. As he devoured each hot dog with lightning speed, the calorie count began to climb at an alarming rate. Chestnut's voracious appetite led him to consume a staggering number of calories, far surpassing what an average person might consume in a week. While the exact figure may vary from year to year, the sheer magnitude of his consumption leaves onlookers astounded. Behind the accolades and cheers lies a testament to Chestnut's unwavering commitment and unyielding appetite. His triumphs in the world of competitive eating continue to rewrite records and push the limits of human capacity. As fans marvel at his extraordinary feat, one thing remains certain: Joey Chestnut's insatiable hunger for victory and his remarkable ability to consume calories at an unparalleled pace have solidified his name in the annals of competitive eating history.

How many calories does Joey Chestnut consume?

Joey Chestnut, the legendary competitive eater, has captivated audiences with his astonishing ability to consume jaw-dropping amounts of food. As a true master of the sport, he has shattered records and set new standards, leaving fans and competitors in awe. One question that frequently arises is just how many calories does Joey Chestnut consume during his eating feats? Well, the answer is not a simple one. With each competition varying in duration and food type, it becomes challenging to calculate an exact figure. However, it is safe to say that Chestnut's caloric intake reaches astronomical levels. In events like the renowned Nathan's Hot Dog Eating Contest, where he famously devours an extraordinary number of hot dogs, buns, and condiments in a limited timeframe, it is estimated that he consumes several thousand calories. The human body's average caloric needs pale in comparison to what Chestnut can devour in just a matter of minutes. It's important to note that Chestnut's eating abilities are exceptional and should not be considered a reflection of healthy eating habits. While his feats are undoubtedly impressive, they are performed under controlled conditions and not recommended for regular individuals. So, the next time you witness Joey Chestnut devouring an unbelievable amount of food, marvel at his extraordinary talent but remember to approach your own dietary choices with moderation and balance.

How do competitive eaters consume so much?

Competitive eaters possess a remarkable ability to consume vast amounts of food in jaw-dropping competitions that captivate audiences around the world. While the average person may struggle to finish a regular-sized meal, these athletes push the limits of their stomachs, showcasing incredible feats of gastronomic endurance. So, how do they do it? First and foremost, competitive eaters train extensively. They dedicate countless hours to expanding their stomach capacity through a process known as "stomach stretching." This involves gradually increasing the amount of food they consume over time, allowing their stomachs to adapt and expand. This training not only involves consuming large quantities of food but also focuses on developing efficient swallowing techniques to minimize discomfort and maximize speed. Another crucial aspect of competitive eating is mental preparation. These professionals employ various psychological techniques to overcome the body's natural signals of fullness and maintain focus during intense eating challenges. They often practice visualization exercises, mentally rehearsing their performances and envisioning success. Mental toughness and discipline play a significant role in pushing beyond the body's physiological limits. Moreover, competitive eaters employ strategic eating methods during competitions. They may use water or other liquids to help lubricate and soften the food, making it easier to swallow. They also rely on techniques like "chipmunking," which involves storing food in their cheeks temporarily, allowing them to continue eating while they chew and swallow. It's worth noting that competitive eating comes with risks and should not be attempted without proper training and guidance. These professionals undergo thorough medical check-ups and work closely with nutritionists to ensure their health and safety. In conclusion, competitive eaters possess a combination of physical training, mental fortitude, and strategic techniques that enable them to consume extraordinary amounts of food. Their exceptional abilities have turned this unique sport into a fascinating spectacle that continues to astound and entertain audiences worldwide.

What delicious recipes and culinary inspirations can Coba Grills share to elevate your dining experience?

At Coba Grills, we are passionate about taking your dining experience to new heights by sharing a plethora of delicious recipes and culinary inspirations. Our food blog is a treasure trove of gastronomic delights, offering a wide range of flavors, techniques, and creative combinations. From succulent grilled meats marinated in flavorful spices to vibrant vegetarian dishes bursting with fresh ingredients, our recipes are crafted to tantalize your taste buds and leave you craving for more. Whether you're looking for indulgent comfort foods or health-conscious options, Coba Grills has you covered. Our team of talented chefs and food enthusiasts are dedicated to providing you with innovative ideas and expert tips to elevate your culinary adventures. Get ready to embark on a flavorful journey as we unveil mouthwatering recipes, share cultural influences, and inspire you to create memorable dining experiences in the comfort of your own kitchen. Join us at Coba Grills and let us unlock a world of delicious possibilities to enhance your dining pleasure.

Looking to spice up your taste buds? How does Coba Grills bring bold flavors and mouthwatering creations to your table?

At Coba Grills, we understand the power of bold flavors and how they can elevate your dining experience to new heights. Our culinary team is dedicated to creating mouthwatering creations that tantalize your taste buds and leave you craving for more. We believe in the art of seasoning and spice, carefully selecting and blending an array of spices to craft dishes that pack a flavorful punch. From our signature spice rubs to our exotic marinades, each ingredient is thoughtfully chosen to create a symphony of flavors on your palate. Our commitment to using fresh, high-quality ingredients ensures that every bite is a burst of deliciousness. Whether it's our fiery grilled meats, zesty salsas, or aromatic side dishes, Coba Grills is passionate about delivering bold flavors that awaken your senses and transport you to a culinary paradise. So, if you're ready to embark on a flavor-packed journey, join us at Coba Grills and let us spice up your taste buds with our mouthwatering creations.

What makes Coba Grill's Barbecued Bavette Steak & Tomato Salad a tantalizing blend of smoky grilled flavors and refreshing seasonal ingredients?

Indulge in the tantalizing flavors of our Barbecued Bavette Steak & Tomato Salad at Coba Grills. Our expert grillmasters skillfully prepare the Bavette steak to perfection, ensuring a tender and juicy centerpiece for this mouthwatering dish. The smoky aroma and robust char marks imparted by our grilling technique add an irresistible depth of flavor to the steak. Paired with a vibrant tomato salad featuring a medley of ripe, succulent tomatoes, crisp greens, and a zesty vinaigrette, this dish offers a harmonious balance of textures and tastes. Each bite reveals a burst of freshness from the tomatoes, complemented by the richness of the grilled steak. Our Barbecued Bavette Steak & Tomato Salad is a perfect fusion of hearty and refreshing elements, showcasing the culinary mastery and commitment to quality that defines Coba Grills. Whether you're seeking a delightful lunch or a satisfying dinner, this dish is sure to satisfy your cravings and leave you longing for more. Join us at Coba Grills to savor this delectable creation and experience a culinary journey like no other.

#Barbecued Bavette Steak & Tomato Salad #World News #Coba Grills #Trend #Hot dog Eating Championship #United State

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rose-of-pollux · 8 months

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AU Roulette, Entry 2/3

My chosen fandom for the AU Roulette challenge was Scooby-Doo.

My second prompt was: High Seas AU.

As before, posting this just to tumblr for now; if I ever expand on this, I’ll crosspost it to AO3.

Title: The Point of No Return (1/1) Fandom: Scooby-Doo Rating: K+ Summary: [AU] Captain Frederick Jones and his loyal crew aboard the good ship Mystery are in pursuit of notorious brigand Morgan Moonscar after the pirates run off with important artifacts of a familiar warlock.

Captain Jones look out over the bow of the Mystery, his green-painted ship, as it sailed the warm waters.

“What’s our course?” he asked.

Navigator Dinkley looked up from her charts and compass.

“We followed the trail of the Maelstrom through the Gulf and through the Caribbean Sea,” she reported. “We’re passing from the Caribbean to the Atlantic.”

“Like, I’m keeping her steady as she goes, Captain!” First Mate Rogers called from the wheel of the ship.

“But we still haven’t seen any sign of the Maelstrom—or our quarry on board of it,” Tactician Blake sighed, as she paced the deck.

“Given the direction and speed of the currents, this is the quickest and the easiest way that the Malestrom could have come,” Navigator Dinkley promised. “It’s only a matter of time—just wait and see.”

“I hope so,” Blake sighed. “The Great Mage entrusted us with retrieving the artifacts that were stolen from him. We can’t let him down—why, I feel like I’d be disappointing my own father!”

“Have faith, Tactician Blake,” Jones assured her. “We won’t allow that thieving pirate to get away with this!” He looked up to the crow’s nest of the ship, where a large Great Dane kept watch. “Ahoy, up there! What do your canine eyes see?”

“Rhots of water!” Watchdog Scooby barked down. “Rhand a few clouds rhout there, too!”

“Well, keep a lookout for the Maelstrom!” Jones instructed. “The Mystery may be smaller, but we’re also faster—we should catch up to Morgan Moonscar and his men in no time at all!”

“Right!” the watchdog barked.

First Mate Rogers sighed, suppressing a nervous gulp as he maintained the ship’s current course.

“What’s wrong?” Jones asked, sensing his distress.

“We’re faster than the Maelstrom, sure—like, I don’t have any doubt that we’re gonna catch up to it,” he said. “…My worry is what happens when we do catch up! I mean… are the stories about Morgan Moonscar and his men true? They’re supposed to be the cruelest band of pirates to ever sail these waters!”

“It’s possible,” Jones admitted. “I wouldn’t put anything past Morgan Moonscar—especially if he’s brazen enough to steal from the Great Mage.”

“And that’s why we have to stop him!” Tactician Blake exclaimed. “The Great Mage has many magical items and treasures that were taken—imagine what could happen if Moonscar and his men figure out how to use them!”

“The last thing we need is for them to become even more dangerous than they already are,” Jones sighed. “We have no other choice—plus, we gave our word to the Great Mage. Maintain our course, Rogers.”

“A-Aye-aye, Captain,” Rogers promised, his voice a little shaky.

They continued onward, the sun sinking through the sky as time ticked on; soon, it was dusk, and the stars were beginning to brighten in the sky.

It was then that Watchdog Scooby suddenly froze, his night vision mercifully better than that of his human crewmates. He yelled out an alarm—

“A Rhip!” he barked.

Captain Jones seized his spyglass and ran back to the bow; he could, indeed, discern the shape of another large ship.

“Is it the Maelstrom?” Tactician Blake asked, her eyes wide.

“I can’t make out the name,” Jones sighed, frustrated. “Hold on—let me see if I can see what the flag is…” He focused the lens as his crew fell utterly silent, waiting to find out what they were up against. Jones suddenly exhaled. “They’re flying the Jolly Roger—that’s got to be the Maelstrom!”

First Mate Rogers shivered, but continued to grip the ship’s wheel.

“A-Awaiting instructions, Captain…!” he managed to say.

Jones turned back to his crew; they were all looking at him for instructions, not just the First Mate.

“What’s our current position?” he asked.

“We’re nearing the Bermuda Triangle,” Navigator Dinkley announced.

“Rhand there’s a storm brewing there!” Watchdog Scooby added, taking note of the thick, dark clouds obscuring that part of the sky.

“We need to catch up to the Maelstrom and find a way to board it to get the treasures back,” Jones realized. “We have the element of surprise right now; this may be our one and only chance—and the storm may prove to be the cover we need to catch up to them further. Maintain our course, Rogers. And Tactician Blake? Prepare plans to board the Maelstrom!”

“Aye-aye, Captain!” they both echoed.

Captain Jones continued to stand at the bow, watching the Maelstrom draw closer.

He had no idea what he and his crew were getting themselves into. But he was determined to protect them from Morgan Moonscar—to the end, if necessary.

It was the least he could do for his crew—his friends.

#AUroulette2023 #scooby doo #fic

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aiqod · 6 months

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Technology Transformation in an Enterprise: Key Strategies for Success in 2023 and Beyond

Welcome to our special interview series, where we talk to people who have been there and done that. In this edition, we have Ajinkya Mulay, who is the Head of Blue Ocean at AIQod. Let’s dive into his story, the obstacles he faced, his successes, and the important lessons he has learned throughout his journey of Technology based transformation.

With technologies like Generative AI taking the world by storm, businesses are under more pressure than ever to keep their tech up to date and use the newest tools and solutions as technology continues to advance at an unparalleled rate. Enterprise technology improvements are crucial for businesses looking to maintain their competitiveness, increase productivity, and simplify operations. These improvements, however, could potentially come with significant challenges, like budgetary constraints. We’ll talk about the numerous difficulties that companies encounter when updating their enterprise technology in this interview, as well as explore methods and best practices for handling these updates efficiently. Whether you work in IT or are a business executive, this debate will give you insightful information about the world of enterprise technology updates and give you the skills and expertise you need to compete in the fast-paced digital environment of today.

Why is technology upgrade important

As we all know, technology plays an important role in everyone’s life, and to solve new-age business problems, we can’t look at the same old technologies. Technology upgrades help in many aspects, like UI/UX, speed, and security, with fewer implementation cycles. Here are some examples of the cons of remaining with older technologies:

Scalability issues may arise for older systems built with monolithic architecture, but if your tech stack is updated and you switch from monolithic to microservice-based architecture, it will benefit you in a big way.

Building Responsive Applications on all devices and OS would have been exceedingly challenging as front-end design was only reliant on HTML and CSS. With less coding and quicker delivery, frontend technology advancements like HTML5, SCSS, Bootstrap, Material UI, and Service Workers (PWA) will meet these challenges very quickly. In short there are many benefits of being always on the latest technologies.

AIQod used to work on which tech stack earlier?

In 2016, we were using the PHP Laravel framework and MySQL as our backend database.

I understand that you were pivotal in changing the tech stack from PHP to Mean stack, how did you do it?

We were utilizing PHP and MySQL to build a product, as I indicated earlier, but after some time, it started to become a barrier when we tried adding new features and managing unstructured data. As a team, we made the deliberate decision to move the product to the new stack, but it was not an easy choice because we were not putting much work into the migration, which slows down the creation of new products. But after that, my technical team and top management held a brainstorming session where we identified the pros. and cons of this decision, We have already decided to use a MEAN stack after having shortlisted new stacks to migrate to, conducting research, speaking with users of the stack, and considering the product plan. We developed a migration plan after the team had unanimously approved and finalized the MEAN stack. Since we are switching from SQL to NoSQL, creating a MongoDB schema was the first thing we did. Then, because our PHP stack had previously been monolithic in nature, we opted to employ a microservice design for our backend. To determine how many microservices we should have when we begin migrating, we performed a logical breakdown of our monolithic architecture. And this is where my contribution comes in: I wrote the first MEAN stack program and structure for the platform on which we started migrating and completed the entire migration in a few months.

What are the technologies AIQod is working on/leveraging presently and how it is performing?

As mentioned earlier, currently we are using the MEAN stack as our base, which includes Angular 14, NodeJS, Node MongoDB 6.0, and Express JS. We also use Python to solve problems related to AI/ML. The platform also uses Redis for caching. We are pioneers in deploying our solution on the cloud (AWS, Azure, etc.) using Docker images on the Kubernetes cluster.

How did you see the technology change in the company throughout the years?

The business never loses sight of technology. We review our stack every quarter and assess any improvements that have been made as well as the addition of new features in accordance with the product strategy. For instance, our front end is currently using Angular 14, although we were using Angular 2 five years ago when we transitioned to Angular we added other layers over the years, such as document digitization based on AI. In the product, we introduced a caching layer utilizing Redis and an NLP layer for categorization and Atlas for databases as a service and added an analytical engine to the solution. We recently integrated with chatGPT to generate automated code and new innovations in technologies will keep coming in where we need to think ahead and keep moving forward and adopting these technologies. We have been constantly on the lookout of technology changes and we were very conscious and planned the upgrades that we need to do on the platform this goes through a rather quick approval process to ensure bureaucracy will not cripple our platform growth.

What are the problems you face while changing the technology or upgrading the technology department?

Any upgrades are first uncomfortable, but understanding what advantages we will experience in the long run always helps. Knowing the new technology is the first issue we encounter when it is implemented, thus learning the technical details of the new technology might be difficult if there isn’t a team member with experience who has already worked with it. A major issue that will arise in the first few months after a technology upgrade is, in my opinion, the team’s acceptance of the change. To get around this, I first built a straightforward prototype with a folder structure. All the vital tools needed for this stack, which facilitates streamlined development and deployment, have been identified. VS Code Studio as a code editor, Postman as a rest client, Swagger for API description, MongoDB Compass for GUI querying, and Jenkins for creating CI/CD pipelines are a few well-known names. Other developers have held thorough sessions with the team on each subject and component of the new stack after gathering information alongside me, which aids in quicker adoption.

As you lead the whole tech team in the company, how do you leverage people skills for completing the task?

Every member of the team brings a unique set of abilities and talents to the table, whether it be expertise in client communication, troubleshooting complex issues, problem-solving techniques, or specialized tech skills like front-end, back-end, etc. Taking all of this into account, we examined the talent required and gave the assignments accordingly. Additionally, we offered training that will aid with task completion. We have developed a customized syllabus for each technology and divided it into basic, intermediate, and advanced levels as part of our organization-wide knowledge management program. Each level is connected to the assignment, and after review, the team is given access to the different course levels. This program’s knowledge foundation places equal emphasis on soft skills and technology.

What is the issue you faced while managing the team and how do you manage them?

Since each member of your team is unique, a variety of difficulties arise on a daily basis. The difficulty is that a new fresher who has recently graduated from college joins the team and needs to be brought up to speed in order for him/her to get valuable expertise and assist the business in solving this issue. We also give them access to specialized training materials and assignment links. We must always communicate with them at regular intervals in order to understand their perspectives and take appropriate action. We also have weekly 1-on-1 meetings to provide correct counseling regarding their daily routines, etc. People may find it difficult to focus on learning new, advanced skills at work, gradually affecting their performance. We attempt to hold workshops on cutting-edge technical subjects each week to address this issue and keep people informed.

What is the message you want to convey to the younger generation/upcoming talent?

I always tell youngsters that we must continuously improve ourselves and to achieve the same, we should read at least one blog per day about new technological advancements. We should approach every challenge with a positive outlook and vigor. Any technological challenge must first be broken down into a plan of action that will ultimately address the problem more quickly and most importantly be the first one to take the step and be the leader in technology upgrades.

Conclusion-

In today’s fast-paced world, upgrading technology is crucial for businesses. It brings scalability, improved user experience, efficiency, security, and a competitive edge. By embracing technology upgrades, businesses can adapt to market demands, drive innovation, and achieve long-term success. Regular evaluation, improvement, and adoption of the latest tools are necessary for staying competitive and maximizing growth potential.

#artificial intelligence #digital transformation #automation #gen ai #no code

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distinguished-slacker · 2 years

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A mess of questions I am having about Shikama and the Hīragi family😵‍💫

Warning: As I said…a mess

Okay, I’ve been wondering this for quite some time but…what was actually the purpose of Mahiru’s birth?

I mean, she is the result of the experiment to birth hybrid human-demon children, but when you think that Tenri (possessed by Shikama) decided to put Asuramaru instead of Shikama inside of her, it’s quite unfair to compare her to Shinoa, because Mahiru was actually never meant to be Shikama’s vessel, right?

But then what is the purpose of still giving some of Shikama’s cells to her? To give her the ability of still being able to host him for some time nevertheless? But then Tenri (who hosted Shikama since becoming head of the clan) was able to host him without breaking and Kureto has the ability too (even though he struggled to keep control), although they apparently weren’t born from experiments unlike Shinoa and Mahiru, and so their blood relation to Shikama must be minimal (some ancestry with the first Hiiragi at most). Technically as long as someone has Hiiragi blood, Shikama possess can possess anyone right? So going back to my earlier question, what is the purpose of giving some of Shikama’s cells to a Hiiragi girl who would still be able to host him without them? By that logic, Shikama never even got a benefit for his plan from possessing Mahiru, and I assume, he never even intended to possess her, because it was actually Mahiru who decided to take him away from Shinoa and into herself, not Shikama, right? And also, why did Mahiru take Shikama inside her to begin with? The only thing he did is to speed up her degeneration and the only idea for a benefit I can come up with is that that allowed her to foresee the Apocalypse in either two ways; a psychic ability obtained from hosting Shikama, or Shikama himself told her about the Apocalypse. But if it’s the first one, then why is Shinoa not displaying this ability too? And if it’s the second one, is it not dumb for Shikama to give her this kind of useful information?

Additionally, she still struggled to maintain control of Shikama like Kureto, and got possessed from time to time back in Cat16, so those Shikama cells are pretty useless anyways right?

The other option for her birth reasons is that Mahiru was intended to be the sacrifice which would trigger the Apocalypse (as she herself stated). That’s why Shikama would tell her about it, but still it’s pretty risky to inform her about this as she might create a plan on her own to ruin his (which is what actually then happened)? Even more, this plan has some issues. Between creating a vessel for himself and creating a sacrifice for the apocalypse, wouldn’t be the first one more important to prioritise? I mean, if a sacrifice has to be a vampire with a curse to absorb Noya into themselves, there are other ways to create one like this? The success rate for a woman inseminated by Tenri to birth a successful human-demon child is low to begin with, so why waste one of your limited first experimental batches of embryos on creating a sacrifice rather than a vessel for himself? Nothing would ensure a vessel could be created anyways so the plan will be ruined (and let’s not even get into the part about what is the importance of a vessel if Shikama can ditch Shinoa in the blink of an eye whenever he feels like to).

Going back to the possession topic, I don’t understand why Shinoa is called the “perfect vessel”? I mean, Tenri was able to host Shikama for at least two decades so what is the difference with Shinoa? Besides, isn’t it too weird to call Shinoa the perfect vessel because of her ability to raise her walls? I mean, if she raises her walls, then Shikama cannot possess her, so actually Shinoa does not work vessel, because Shikama cannot use even her right (ignoring the fact that she got possessed later anyways)? While he was able to use Tenri, so he looked more like a perfect vessel to me than Shinoa. So is being a perfect vessel based on a criteria other than being able to host Shikama for a long time? Does that mean that even if Tenri was able to host him for over two decades, if Shikama tried to fully possess him (making him display yellow eyes, grow wings and all that like it happened to Shinoa…) then Tenri would break immediately?

But then we have this:

So even if Shinoa is able to grow wings and use Shikama’s scythe throwing ability, if Shikama can withstand the power of the sinful keys but his host body (Shinoa) actually can’t follow with him and would break as a result, then Shinoa is actually an imperfect vessel. I mean, if her body can’t withstand this, how is she even supposed to withstand hosting Shikama for an eternity and any outside force Shikama might have to fight against in the future (Idk, sinful keys, angels, etc.). So yeah, what makes Shinoa different from Tenri? Maybe it’s because Shinoa, other than her ability to raise walls, is able to hear demons, but I don��t really understand what does this have to do with determining whether she is a perfect vessel or not? What is the point of her having this psychic abilities if her body isn’t unbreakable? And how come Shikama based her suitability when she barely gave him any concrete evidence for it during the time he was her demon?

And since this a mess of questions, I’ll add another one to end this (well two): how was Shinoa able to be born with Shikama? I mean, all embryos have Tenri’s DNA and Shikama’s cells, but only one out of the many embryos will actually have Shikama as a demon inside I suppose? So then, did Shikama use that unexplained ability to be at two places at once, to “split himself into parts” and possess all the women and them move onto their embryos, or did he actually wait for all embryos/foetuses to die and only for one (Shinoa) to remain, and then Shikama went into that one while Shinoa’s mother was pregnant with her? But then we have to apply this same logic for Mahiru too; Asuramaru doesn’t have this ability to be at many places at once like Shikama, so how come he was able to possess so many women at once?

TDLR: I don’t understand what is the purpose of Mahiru in Shikama’s plan, why is Shinoa called a “perfect vessel”, how the girls were actually able to be born with demons inside of them, what is Shikama thinking, what is Kagami actually thinking, or that maybe I am stupid and I need someone to enlighten me.

#Ufff #this was long😭#owari no seraph #seraph of the end #mahiru hiiragi #shinoa hiiragi #tenri hiiragi #kureto hiiragi #shikama doji

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sassycassie-s-writing · 3 years

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Diplomatic Daemati

By: SassyShoulderAngel319

Fandom/Character(s): A Court of Thorns and Roses Series/Rhysand

Rating: PG/K+

Original Idea: A writing prompt on Pinterest about screaming in your mind to catch mind readers

Notes: (Masterlist)(By Character)(About Me) Clocking in at 3,712 words... this one really ran away from me. I kinda wanted to make this a full blown thing. Maybe I will but I haven’t decided yet. This is supposed to take place like way before Amarantha.

^^^^^

I stood in the High Lord’s meeting, a member of Thesan’s entourage, and stared at each and every High Fae and faerie. Most of them didn’t notice. Not Rhysand of the Night Court, who was coldly making stiff conversation with Helion of the Day Court, who didn’t notice me either.

But I could feel it. The presence. Someone else in this room was daemati. Like me. The wards keeping everyone from fighting made it hard to pinpoint the direction that presence was coming from. No matter which way I faced, I only ever felt the other daemati with my right ear, like a fly buzzing around my head at the same speed I turned it. Thesan hadn’t noticed I was jittery. Probably because, as a Peregryn and a warrior trained to always be on alert, I was always flighty.

Also because he didn’t know I was daemati. A secret I’d never been sure why I kept.

My own mental shields were up, but they were designed to be subtle. Another daemati might look at my mind and not sense they were up. Depending on how good they were.

I reached out with my mind, letting nothing more than a breeze caress the shields of everyone who had one. Every High Lord had one; as did many members of their entourages. Not all.

No one stiffened as my breeze touched their shields. I wasn’t sure if a non-daemati would even be able to feel the wisp of magic, but I doubted it.

I poked a little harder at Tamlin and Nostrus’ shields where they were discussing their shared border with the bored tones of those looking for things in common. Not a breeze, but a brush of a flower stem as one walked. Neither acknowledged anything. I tried Beron’s. Nothing. Helion’s. Nothing. Rhysand. Nothing.

Except—did his eye twitch? Or was I shaking so much that I imagined it? Was it wishful thinking that his blue-violet eyes might have flicked away from Helion and looked around for the source of the magic against his shield?

I wasn’t sure if I dared poke harder. Though I was distracted from the thought by movement.

The High Lord of the Winter Court—whose name escaped me—stood. “I’d like to call this meeting to order,” he said. His voice was brittle like ice cracking as growing spring weather thawed it out.

The High Lords and their retinues all found their way to their seats. Myself included, at the far end of Thesan’s left side. The least important, lowest ranked soldier among the Dawn Court group. I was still highly ranked back home, but among every important, powerful commander High Lord Thesan had brought, I was the lowest. I considered myself honored I’d even been selected to come.

Maybe Thesan did know I was daemati after all. Or, at least, guessed as much.

Though, if he’d guessed, wouldn’t he have confronted me about it? Asked me to break into whoever’s minds I could? Just to fact check their honesty?

I tuned out the meeting completely. A low-pitched hum was filling the mental space between everyone’s minds. Reverberating off shields. No one seemed to notice. I certainly wasn’t doing it—but no one’s face betrayed any hint of effort. Not a trace of split focus.

The pitch of the hum got higher. A bead of sweat ran down my spine between my wings. I felt like I was going to vibrate out of my feathers at the effort of keeping still. I pushed against that hum, built another layer around my shields, deciding to forget the subtlety I’d planned in the event of another daemati peeking at me. I didn’t dare form words beyond that shield. Didn’t dare let the other daemati have the chance to recognize my voice. Not that I’d said anything during the opening mingle that would give someone the chance to learn my voice. But I didn’t dare risk it.

Every ounce of concentration went toward sitting still and appearing relaxed, and building up more layers of my mental shield, trying desperately to block out the humming.

I doubted anyone else—besides the originator—could even notice or feel it. I doubted they had any presence in the mindscape beyond the maintaining of their own shields. They were all tucked safely in their own minds, not noticing the hum as it got louder and higher. Loud and high enough that I was almost surprised it hadn’t become real sound, echoing around the chamber of the sacred mountain—the neutral zone where High Lords met.

That hum turned into the drone of an oboe. Holding steady and perfectly in tune.

Another drop of sweat slid down my spine, brushing where feather met skin.

Everyone’s faces were perfect masks of calm indifference.

“—furthermore, when taken into consideration—” the High Lord of the Winter Court dragged on. The only words that had broken through my own internal war with my own body and whoever was making the droning.

The pitch built again. I felt like it was going to shear my feathers off.

I glanced at the Illyrian warriors Rhysand had brought with him. It would be a literal one-of-a-kind chance for the shadowsinger to also be daemati.

But it would be just like Rhysand—with his games and his plans and his power plays—to have allied himself with the two most powerful Illyrians in history that also were a shadowsinger and a daemati.

The bigger of the two—taller than even Rhysand by several inches—with his glowing scarlet Siphons and powerful build didn’t seem to fit, though. I quickly lashed a tendril of my presence at his shield. I felt it wobble. Just a bit. It was there and it was strong, but it didn’t have the intricacies of someone who knew from the experience of attacking a shield how to defend against daemati.

Not him then.

A quick test at the shadowsinger revealed the same. Though I kept my eyes on the High Lord of the Winter Court, I could have sworn the shadowsinger’s eyes flicked around.

Shadowsingers can hear and feel things no one else can, I reminded myself. He’s still probably not daemati on top of it.

The drone was now a high-pitched ringing. It was all I could do to hold still.

No one looked strained by the effort of holding this noise for the several minutes it had been building.

I tested everyone’s shields around the room in a quick wave. They didn’t seem to notice. Not me, and not the ringing.

My mind felt like it was going to shatter from the noise before my shield did.

Almost unwittingly, I cracked open a small slit in my shield—

And screamed.

Not physically. Just mentally. A high-pitched, bloodcurdling scream. The kind I’d released when I’d had to have a wing relocated after a particularly nasty training day and my captain’s scrimmage resulted in dislocating the joint where my wing met my back.

Rhysand flinched.

No one else noticed it. No one else would have. They weren’t looking for it. They were all still focused on the Winter Court High Lord. The flinch was small and barely more than a twitch of his right hand.

But I saw.

Rhysand. High Lord of the Night Court. The wicked, dangerous, calculating, cold, manipulative, admittedly handsome, extremely powerful High Lord of the Night Court.

Who now knew there was another daemati in the room.

And was most likely smart and strong enough to pinpoint that it was me.

I slammed the sliver in my shield closed and reinforced the whole thing a few times over. If he had games to play with my mind, I could at least keep him busy for a while. I tested my shield for weak points and built them up.

The high-pitched ringing stopped. I forced my wings not to shiver at the relief.

No probes. Not a single scuff of another’s presence against my shield. No claws. Not even a breeze. It was almost more unnerving than if he did attack.

I was curious about the intricacies of his shield. Curious if I could learn something from someone older and more experienced by trying to tunnel through.

But I didn’t dare. He was far too strong for me to go up against and win.

And I wasn’t willing to get into his mind and risk him trapping me there. To be an unwitting and unwilling slave and spy in the Dawn Court.

So I kept myself to myself for the rest of the meeting. Not daring to reach out to anyone’s minds.

—

The end of the meeting brought a bit more mingling. Less from the High Lords and more from the retinues. The Night Court kept to themselves, but that didn’t surprise me. Every party had brought wine and were taking the chance to drink and talk.

I hung near a wall and said nothing to no one. I allowed my body—my wings—to shudder every time I took a sip of my drink. Acting as though the elderberry wine was the cause of the shudder, not the pent-up energy of holding still through that droning. My hearing still felt fuzzy hours after it had stopped.

“You know,” a lazy voice drawled behind me, “breaking into other people’s minds is rude.”

I whirled. Rhysand stood there. Unnervingly close. His eyes were blue, but so dark and so deep they appeared violet.

My grip tightened on the stem of my glass.

“So I’d imagine,” I said, tone tightly controlled and managing not to tremble.

He leaned down—I was shorter than him—and whispered, “I won’t tell anyone you’re daemati.”

“I assume you’ll want something in exchange.” My words weren’t quite as flat and fearless as I wanted them to be, but I hoped it was enough to fool him. Doubtful. He was centuries older than me.

He gave me a roguish smirk. “Information.”

“I would rather be outed as daemati than give up court secrets to you.”

Rhysand waved a hand dismissively, swirling his wine. I reinforced my shields, but he didn’t touch them. “Not about your court. We’re on decent terms with each other, Night and Dawn. Comparatively, anyway. No, no. I want information about you. It’s so rare to meet another daemati. I should think you’d be interested in comparing notes.” He spoke with a tone that was undoubtedly supposed to be sweet, but so laced with poison that my feathers bristled.

I should have been scared. I knew I should have been scared. Terrified out of my mind, probably.

For whatever reason, I wasn’t.

Nervous, of course. Tentative, of course. But there was no real fear.

“What do you want to know?” I asked.

“Who taught you?”

“No one. I taught myself.”

“Liar,” he snapped.

“It’s the truth. No one—not even my parents—know what I am.” I spoke quietly so the other mingling High Fae and faeries didn’t hear in a room of predator’s hearing.

“And why not? You’d quickly become a very prized member of Thesan’s court if you told him. He would value you and your opinion quite highly.” I wasn’t sure if he was being genuine or if his saccharine smile was meant to intimidate me.

I lifted my chin. “If you must know, I made a grave mistake with my powers when I was a child and vowed that I would never tell anyone what I was. So I taught myself.”

Rhysand’s playful sarcasm vanished on a wisp of smoke. “You hurt someone?”

“No. I wasn’t strong enough for that. But I looked into my father’s mind without permission. Without knowing, really. I just… slipped in. And I saw a lot of ugly truths in there that a child had no right to see. Including the fact that he was having an affair with another female. I never told my mother. Never told anyone, actually. I kept myself to myself and honed my abilities on my own. No one ever asked if I was daemati when I joined the legion, so I never said anything.”

“So why not reveal it now?”

I scoffed. “Because that would lose the trust of everyone I know, if they found out I lied to them for decades.”

Rhysand smiled. The same wickedly amused one he’d sported occasionally during the meeting and during the first part of our conversation. “I like you,” he purred, leaning closer. My feathers fluffed and bristled.

His lips brushed the edge of my ear as he whispered, “If you’re interested, I’d be interested in training you further.”

“I’m fine as I am, thank you,” I replied, colder and sharper than I meant.

His face betrayed nothing, still that mask of collected, sarcastic boredom. “You don’t want to be seen as a traitor to your court, is that it?”

My wings extended just slightly and I lifted my chin. None of my instinctual attempts at intimidation would work on him. I knew that. But my wings often acted like a second facial expression, and one that was harder to control than my actual face. “No. I don’t. And I would be if I was caught anywhere near your vicinity.”

Rhys picked at a speck of dust on his lapel that wasn’t there. “I’m sure I could find some way to spin it to Thesan to let you come play with me without being seen as a traitor.” Shadows rippled around him, almost the same way they swirled around his shadowsinger.

“Why?”

“Because an under-trained daemati is dangerous. Potentially more dangerous than a fully-trained one. You could crush and shred minds without meaning to. And I may be a monster, but even I don’t delight in the unintentional destruction of innocent minds and lives,” Rhysand said. “But you gave me information about you—so I will also hold to my end and not tell anyone what you are.” He tilted his head to the side. “Unless you wish me to.”

“No,” I said, too fast to not sound desperate.

I cast my mind around the High Fae and faeries nearby. None of them were paying us any mind.

I realized why as I brushed against several tendrils of dark power. Effortlessly puncturing their shields. He was keeping their attention off of us. None of them even seemed to notice he was there.

His lips curled in a predatory smile. “So? What do you say? Let me train you, hone your gifts, make sure you have full control?”

“And in return?” I repeated.

“Clever girl. In return, you give me three fallen feathers from your next molting.”

My feathers bristled. “Why?”

“The why is not part of the deal,” he said. “What do you say?”

“One condition: no tattoo. I know it’s customary in your court to mark a bargain on the skin, but I want this to remain a secret. Which a tattoo will not help with.”

That predator’s grin widened. “Fine. No tattoo. But it’s a deal?” He extended a hand to me.

I hesitated. “Deal,” I agreed. I grabbed his hand and shook it.

Pain slashed on the inside of my left elbow. I gasped and looked down.

A faint scar, surgically precise, grazed the bottom of the crease in my skin. Rhysand rolled up his jacket sleeve to show off a matching one in the same place. “No tattoo,” he said. Giving me a cheeky wink and rolling his sleeve back down into place, he strolled off. Straight toward Thesan, despite what his unhurried amble would suggest.

I decided I didn’t want to know how he planned on spinning a way to get the chance to train me without my defecting to the Night Court or betraying the Dawn Court. I stayed where I was, nursing my drink. Looking at no one, not even Rhysand and Thesan, for longer than a casual glance. My wings shuddered with every sip of my drink. I really didn’t like wine—elderberry or otherwise—but didn’t want to seem out of place by not drinking. The truce in this sacred mountain always felt like it was balancing on a knife’s edge. One soldier not drinking would imply a lack of trust in everyone assembled and then everything would go sideways as the High Lords shouted at each other and escalated the situation.

Rhysand and Thesan left the chamber, both motioning to their entourages not to join. Rhysand’s Illyrian warriors watched them go, the same way I did.

Why were Night Court males so handsome? How was that fair to the rest of us?

One of my fellow Peregryn soldiers sidled up to me. “Some meeting, huh?” he asked. I grunted agreement.

“Always is, with the High Lords, I’d imagine.”

My cohort shuddered. “All that power, all in one room. It was like the air itself was turning into magic. Especially High Lord Rhysand. My feathers bristled just getting within half a wing-length of him.”

“No kidding,” I agreed. “I know he’s supposedly the most powerful, but I get the feeling that sometimes he’s more than just a cut above the rest. I feel like he might be several cuts above the other High Lords.”

My cohort nodded. “You’re probably right,” he said. “It’s unnerving.” His feathers shivered. I reached back and straightened one of my own. “Did you see where he went with High Lord Thesan?”

“Just out into one of the passages.”

“Any guesses why?”

I shrugged, my feathers swishing through the air with the motion. “Probably High Lord business not meant for the ears of the rest of us. You know Rhysand’s reputation as well as I do. He’s a schemer. He’s always got something up his sleeve. He’s always one step ahead of everyone else. High Lord Thesan has complained that Rhysand is difficult to work with at the best of times. Has plans he tells no one about until they’ve been completed. Always gets what he wants. Undoubtedly he’s pulling the strings of one of those plans now.”

My cohort sat thoughtfully for a while. “You ever flown over the Night Court?”

“No. And I don’t plan to. Have you?”

“No. I don’t want to either,” he said. “Especially not with those Illyrians in the skies.” His eyes slid over to Rhysand’s Illyrians, who stood beside each other and spoke to no one else. The bigger one with the red gems was speaking to the other, the shadowsinger, who didn’t appear to reply at all.

Thesan and Rhysand reentered the chamber. Rhysand inspected me, my cohort, and the other members of Thesan’s entourage. Then waved a hand lazily at me. Thesan gaped for a moment, but nodded.

I bowed as my High Lord approached, Rhysand a step behind. “A word in private, please?” Thesan asked. My cohort bowed in acknowledgement and scurried away. Thesan gestured to Rhysand. “This is High Lord Rhysand of the Night Court.” The introduction was unnecessary even if we hadn’t already spoken, but I gave Rhysand a bow of respect anyway. “He and I have been discussing improving diplomatic relations between our courts for a while now, and he’s requested that you be the emissary from the Dawn Court to the Night Court.”

Push back, don’t be too eager, Rhysand’s voice said in my head, punching past my shield. I almost jolted. Instead, I kept that crack in my shield open. If he was going to guide me through this conversation, it’d be easier just to let him in. Just a little.

“I’m a soldier, my lord, not a diplomat,” I said. True enough.

“Yes, but Rhysand here has decided that you are the only one he will trust. For reasons of his own.” He shot a sharp look to the Lord of Night. One that Rhysand pretended he didn’t see—instead picking a speck of dust off his lapel. A speck that wasn’t there. He swept his hands over his lapels and gave me and Thesan a saccharine smile.

Push back a bit, but relent, Rhysand thought at me.

“I’m not sure I’m qualified, my lord. But… if it is what my duty requires, I will gladly serve,” I said.

Nice. You sure you’re not a diplomat?

Please don’t. I’m not accomplished at having two conversations at once while pretending one isn’t happening.

I felt his laughter rumbling through my head like thunder. Yet, he teased, tone sounding like he found something delicious.

High Lord Thesan smiled at me. “Thank you. Would a visit to the Night Court next week be alright?”

“My lord, whenever works best for you. I am at your service.”

Rhysand waved a hand. “Next week fits into my business well, actually.”

“Then we’ll plan on the initial visit for next week,” Thesan agreed.

Rhysand smirked. “Excellent.” He looked at me. “I look forward to your company.”

I bowed. “My lord,” I said.

He retreated. Good job, soldier. Welcome to a diplomat’s world.

Thesan gave me a serious look. “Be careful,” he said quietly. “And keep sensitive information to yourself.”

“Of course, my lord.”

Thesan left me alone too.

High Lord Rhysand? I reached out tentatively.

Call me Rhys. Please. I hate the over-the-top formality with friends. He was talking with his Illyrian warriors, wine in hand, never indicating he was having a secondary conversation.

Okay. Rhys… you do realize I’m going to have to report back actual diplomatic relations, right?

Of course. I already have plans for you to relay to Thesan. We actually have been talking about improving the relations between our courts. I’m killing two birds with one stone. No reason not to.

I wasn’t sure what to say to that. Thank you for offering to train me.

I’m doing it for your sake as well as mine—and everyone else’s here. Thank me after your training is finished, because you certainly won’t thank me during it.

I take it that it won’t be pleasant?

Working your mind like this never is.

I blinked. See you next week then?

He chuckled in my head. Until then.

I looked back over at him. He lifted his wine glass at me in a toast and gave me an over-exaggerated wink.

#Rhysand #Rhysand Imagine #Rhysand FanFiction #ACOTAR #ACOTAR Imagine #ACOTAR FanFiction #Diplomatic Daemati

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wolf-and-bard · 3 years

Text

Bad Reputation

Part 2 I Part 3 I Part 4

Jaskier/Eskel, ~1.3k, rated T, no warnings

Written for @thewitcherbog fic train event together with @kueble, @professorjaskier, and @softdarlingjaskier so be on the lookout for their parts in the next few days. It was so much fun!! 😊💕

---

“Ta-da,” Jaskier says with a flourish of his hand, and gestures at the dress-form he has set up in the middle of the living area of his rooms at Oxenfurt, all furniture pushed to the side. The mannequin is clad in a positively stunning arrangement, an unpretentious doublet of deep burgundy with subtly golden ribbons at the cuffs and seams, a matching pair of cotton breeches. Underneath, an almost-black silken shirt. It’s plain for Jaskier’s tastes and habits, but it’s perfect for its recipient whose suspicious gaze is currently flicking between Jaskier and the clothes.

“What is that?” Eskel asks, arms crossed loosely over his chest. He’s wearing his typical red-and-dark stripe with those small spikes on the shoulders that Jaskier thinks are honestly ridiculous. Not big enough to work as any form of weaponry or defense mechanism, too dismissable to count as a fashion statement. Yeah, right. Wolves and fashion. Ridiculous.

Jaskier snorts and watches Eskel watch the dress-form, wary and uncomprehending to a point that is just adorable.

“That, my dear witcher, is an outfit. Your outfit to be precise. That is to say, the outfit you will wear tonight.” Jaskier puts on his brightest sunlight-smile, hoping it will cover up the awkwardness he can feel tightening his throat. This could have started better. But then again, this could have started so much worse. Eskel could already be out the door what with him just having arrived, swords still strapped to his back, one hand fisted around the plain linen sack he keeps most of his belongings in.

“Do I look like Geralt to you?” Eskel asks, brow raised which contorts the landscape of scars that cover half his face, stretching them out. Jaskier’s fingers itch to reach out and trace them, they always do whenever Eskel graces him with a visit to his apartment.

It’s about the only place they ever cross paths. With Geralt, Jaskier is bound to stumble into him in the most ridiculous of places and predicaments, as though Destiny wills it so. With Eskel… well. Jaskier learned early on in their acquaintance that finding Eskel anywhere takes effort, so it’s easier to have Eskel find him. The wolf sticks to himself almost all year round, avoids big cities and gets by on mysterious, long-winded contracts that take him to places most of the rest of the world has forgotten about. Jaskier has never once accompanied Eskel on one of his hunts, and that is perhaps why he often feels that a certain distance remains between them, no matter how often Eskel comes around.

And Eskel does, with striking regularity. At least once, whenever Jaskier’s staying in Oxenfurt for longer than a handful of days. He’ll always bring something too; a fine Toussaint vintage for them to share, a hearty piece of salt-crystal cheese for them to put on their bread, some pickled fish straight from the Skellige Isles. It isn’t always edible or drinkable, sometimes it’s useful like a pretty button or a new set of lute strings. There is no rhyme or reason to Eskel’s little gifts, just one thing that threads through them, and it is that every time, they take Jaskier by surprise. Eskel is so very reliable and Jaskier’s brain still hesitates to form expectations. Expectations can get crushed and he has already invested more heart into this relationship than is strictly healthy.

“Jaskier?” Eskel asks into the silence which has speeded by for Jaskier with his mind reminiscing, but which must have dragged excessively for the witcher. To Eskel’s credit, he doesn’t show the slightest twitch of impatience.

“Of course you don’t,” Jaskier says, shuddering inwardly. Outwardly, his smile freezes over.

You look nothing like Geralt, he doesn’t say though he knows that with taking away the scars and dyeing Geralt’s hair, they would look strikingly similar. There are no pictures of Eskel before, but it didn’t even need Vesemir telling Jaskier this for the bard to notice. They have the same cut of jawline, same set of their shoulders, a similar nose. But that’s artificial and if one looks closely, the similarities start to fall away pretty quickly.

You look much more beautiful than him – sorry Geralt, but it’s true, is what Jaskier also doesn’t say even though his rapidly beating heart keeps commanding him to.

“Then why would I wear this? What for?”

“Oh nothing special, just a wee little occasion, really.”

“Jaskier…”

“A-hem, right. The school-board is throwing a fancy dinner party tonight and I have been invited as a guest. I thought you might want to join me… be my partner if you will.”

Oh, but that feels daring. That feels very daring.

Eskel cocks his head, golden eyes boring into Jaskier’s. Jaskier feels his cheeks heat and licks his lips.

“Can’t I go the way I am?” the witcher asks finally.

“Ah, well,” Jaskier says and swallows. “Well, you see… there’s nothing wrong with the way you are, necessarily, but… it’s, well. They are very important people and I have a certain standing within the university. A reputation to maintain, if you will.”

“You?” Eskel raises a brow. “A reputation to maintain?”

A reputation other than drinking and whoring around, is what Eskel doesn’t say, but it is heavily implied and not even in a condescending manner. Eskel knows Jaskier the flamboyant bard, Jaskier the man with an eye for a good party, Jaskier that will drag any conquest into his bed regardless of whether there’s a witcher crashing in his guest bedroom or not. And even though Eskel’s been visiting him in Oxenfurt, in his rooms at the heart of the academy, Professor Pankratz is a complete stranger to both Eskel and Geralt. They know of him, of course, but they don’t know him.

“Yes, me,” Jaskier says. “A Professor at this university and highly valued member of several poet’s societies and bardic unions.”

“Trust a fucking academic to demand I dress up for him.”

“Didn’t I tell you not to trust anyone around here?” Jaskier retorts in what he hopes is a light note, but something has settled in the pit of his stomach at Eskel’s words, even though they were meant in jest. If this was Geralt, there would have been a deeper meaning woven into the words. In this regard too, Eskel is very different from Geralt in the manner in which he deals out his faith. He was wary when they first met at Kaer Morhen, of course; careful. But one night under the tightly-woven tapestry of constellations above the keep together, watching from the battlements while the temperature still allowed it, and Eskel turned from cool indifference to a low simmer of secretive smiles and sidelong glances. Jaskier can’t help but wonder if - for all of Eskel’s straightforwardness - there is still a hidden fuse he’s about to light up like a damn wildfire one day.

“I thought you were the exception,” Eskel grumbles and sighs deeply. Still eyeing the doublet wearily, the wolf witcher begins to pace around it, circling it as though it is a ghoul about to jump him and not his dress for the night. It would have been quite funny too, if it didn’t make Jaskier ponder so much. He doesn’t like pondering, not before an evening of events. He isn’t here to think, which would lead to dissecting, which would lead to inspiration and doubt at the same time. Jaskier has many doubts, especially when the handsomely rugged witcher in front of him is involved and he suspects there’s no glazing over them now, not when big words such as trust have been thrown this carelessly into the room.

“I hoped I would be,” Jaskier admits begrudgingly and carves out another smile, if dampened. “Will you come along then? It would mean the world to me.”

#the witcher #jaskier #eskel #jaskel #jaskier x eskel #my writing #fic train #fluff #oxenfurt #professor pankratz #dancing #alternating pov

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ashintheairlikesnow · 3 years

Text

Haven Gray

CW: Abducted whumpee, description of missing person, captivity, BBU/WRU

Where Is Haven Gray?

r/FindTheMissing

•Posted by u/bananasare2appealing

3 days ago

In the summer of 20XX, 21-year-old Haven Gray texted family and friends to let them know a second job interview they’d just finished had gone well, and they expected to be offered the job.

They made plans to have dinner with a couple of friends to celebrate, but never showed up to the restaurant. They were reported missing by their parents later that night and have never been seen again.

Hey, everyone, this is my first attempt at a post like this, so I hope you’ll go easy on me! Haven Gray is a kind of a personal case to me, I went to the same high school a few years behind them and there was still a lot of talk about what could have happened and like, their picture is in a memorial frame in the hallway by the principal’s office. It’s just a really important case to me and I hope they figure out what happened to Haven one day.

Haven Gray was the oldest of three children born to Matthew and Maria Gray in the small town of Trenton, Indiana. Tall, with long wavy red hair and gray eyes, they stood out in a crowd in more ways than one.

Haven set records for their high school’s cross-country track team, played well on the school basketball team, and maintained a 3.5 GPA alongside plenty of extracurriculars and an active social life.

They then spent two years attending Trenton Community College, looking to finish out their degree at Indiana State University and go into the human resources field. They kept up a part-time job on the side, but during the summer before they would move to ISU, they decided to look for full-time work to help save up some money.

Haven’s mother Maria was interviewed after their disappearance by local news station INNW as saying that Haven was very excited about finishing up their degree and moving into their first real apartment.

Haven had seen an ad on a job-hunting website for a receptionist for a temp agency that specialized in placing HR professionals in nearby companies. Seeing a way to get some relevant experience before they finished up their degree, they applied and were contacted for a job interview.

Here’s where things get just a little weird, before they get even weirder.

Haven texted a photo of the strip mall where the job interview was, and noted that the company was not located in a well-maintained place, which made Haven very nervous. The signage also seemed brand new, which conflicted with information on the company website suggesting they’d been in that location for years.

They waited in their car and called the company phone. Only when someone came out to greet them did Haven go inside for the interview.

The first interview went smoothly, and Haven excitedly called their friends and family to say a second interview was already scheduled with the owner of the small company. It turned out, they explained, that the creepy location was no longer the company’s main location, and their second interview would be at a different address in a much nicer part of town.

They did not give any explanation, if any was given to them, about the reason for brand new signage if the business was in the process of leaving that address. On the day of the second interview, one week later, Haven’s mother saw them leaving in a deep blue top with satin detailing at the neck and gray slacks.

They exchanged goodbyes, and Haven reminded their mother they would be meeting friends tonight, either to celebrate a good interview or commiserate over a bad one.

“My comfort,” Maria Gray said in her interview with INNW, “is that I said goodbye and I love you. I have that, at least. So many don’t get that final chance. I just wish I had known it was the last time. I would have looked at them a little longer.”

From here, Haven is seen on camera at their ‘regular’ Starbucks a few moments later, ordering a large (venti) iced latte. An automatic speed-checker camera next to the highway captured their car with license plate clearly visible driving in the direction of the interstate a few minutes later.

Two hours after this sighting, they called a friend, Natalie Morales, to tell her that the interview had gone well and they believed they would be offered the job. Dinner that night, Haven said, would definitely be a celebration.

They texted three other friends, Maria, and Matthew - as well as a younger sibling. These are the last direct communications anyone had with Haven Gray.

“They didn’t sound scared,” Natalie said in her own interview with True Crime Podcast Now You See Them, Now You Don’t. "Not at all. I’ve thought about it over and over again, trying to ask myself, was there fear there? Had something already happened? And I just don’t think so. I think whatever happened, happened after they hung up the phone. They were excited, said the pay rate was way more than they expected for a receptionist job. The only thing is that they said the guy who interviewed them kind of... gave them the, you know. Made the hair on their arms stand up. You know what I mean? And I thought of that first, when they never... but he has an alibi.”

The man in question is Ladd Prescott, the stated owner of the temp agency Haven applied to. Ladd gave multiple interviews, off-camera and to law enforcement, but he did not leave the office and is seen on in-office security cameras and he is not considered a person of interest in the case.

The final image of Haven’s whereabouts that day comes from the CCTV camera at an ATM for Haven’s bank one hour after the final text message sent to their father Matthew. They are seen pulling up in their car to the drive-thru ATM, where they withdrew $300.

Notable about this footage is three things:

1. Haven appears to look directly at the camera twice, deliberately holding their gaze maybe

2. Their hair, carefully styled when they left for the interview according to Maria, is noticeably in disarray, and they do not appear to be wearing the same shirt they had on when they left (the footage is super grainy, so this is hard to tell exactly, but if you check here you can see that they appear to be wearing a white t-shirt).

3. A shadow just behind them moves independently of Haven, gestures a few times, and it appears - and police believe - that someone else is in the car with Haven Gray directing their movements.

Haven never arrived at the restaurant. When their friends attempted to contact them, the phone went directly to voicemail. This was very out of the ordinary for Haven, so friends called Maria and Matthew, who became immediately worried and contacted the police.

Haven Gray officially was listed as a missing person the next day.

Four days later, their car - with IDs, debit and credit card, a book they were reading, and their resume and list of questions from the interview all inside - was located at a nearby riverfront, abandoned. The only thing missing was the $300 in cash Haven had taken out of the ATM, and Haven themself.

A witness came forward later stating they had seen a man with ashy blond hair who appeared to be in his 40′s or 50′s smoking next to the car the day Haven was last seen. This man has never come forward or been located and his connection to Haven’s disappearance, if any, is unknown.

Law enforcement believes that Haven was abducted within half an hour of finishing their interview by someone who forced their way into the car, and likely directed to the ATM to take cash out and then met someone else or moved into a different car after parking Haven’s at the riverfront.

Weirdly, the riverfront was checked the day after Haven was declared missing, which suggests someone came back and moved the car after the witness saw the smoking man, then moved it back into place after the initial search of the area was over with.

Cell towers picked up pings from Haven’s phone for four hours afterward, heading due east. The nearest big city would have been Cincinnati, so it’s possible the abductor headed that direction. If they did, though, they took a winding route and Haven’s phone was turned off or discarded before reaching the city.

Look, I know this is a big conspiracy theory and there’s absolutely no proof, but I think Haven was abducted by WRU.

Why?

Three weeks prior to their disappearance, Haven attended a bar’s “singles night”. They mentioned to friends later that they connected with a man who worked for WRU as a handler, but then decided they couldn’t handle the reality of what he did and cut off contact before they could have their first real date.

(The handler in question has been cleared during the investigation, but I still have my suspicions)

I know this seems like the flimsiest reason, but Haven’s friends all say that the man was very upset by Haven’s discomfort with his job, tried to keep contacting them for days. I think the job interview is a red herring and it’s this handler guy who is behind it somehow - maybe him, or his friends.

Also, there’s a WRU Training Facility in Cincinnati, Ohio, only a few hours away... and law enforcement never even tried to get a warrant to search there. Easy way to get rid of someone if you did something to them, right?

(I know, I know, WRU has standards and does checks and all that, but seriously. Think about it.)

A year later, improbably, a farmer working to mow the ditch next to his fields found Haven’s cell phone in a ziploc inside a second plastic bag. The phone had been wiped to factory settings and no new useful information was found.

So, where is Haven Gray?

Were they murdered? Abducted? Will we find their body in a field one day? Were they just dumped in the river next to their abandoned car? Are they part of the WRU system now? No one seems to know, and reported sightings of them in Los Angeles, New York City, and even one mention from Sydney, Australia, seem hard to believe.

Haven’s mother Maria says they have no plans to declare Haven legally dead, and they intend to keep looking “as long as it takes”.

What Are Your Thoughts?

WRU NEW ACQUISITION INTAKE FORM FACILITY 005

SUBJECT: 549065

DATE OF ACQUISITION: 06.06.20XX

TIME OF ACQUISITION: 1:45 PM

LOCATION ASSIGNED: FACILITY 005, CINCINNATI, OHIO

PREVIOUS ALIAS: Haven Finley Gray

AGE: 21

DATE OF BIRTH: 07.19.20XX

HAIR: Red

EYES: Gray

HEIGHT: 6′0″

WEIGHT: 153 lbs

SEXUALITY: Pansexual

DESIGNATION: Romantic

KNOWN SKILLS: Subject in school for business-related major, excellent with typing, record-keeping, work with Excel spreadsheets, etc. Subject reports regular workouts primarily consisting of long-distance cardio. Subject refused to provide details on sex life but is known to have been active in the dating scene of local area. Subject is known to be gregarious and social.

HOBBIES: Subject mentioned reading as a hobby, with primary interest in fantasy and science fiction. Three books located in subject’s car at time of acquisition.

KNOWN CONCERNS: Subject is showing some irregularities in heartrate, likely due to fear. No other known concerns.

KNOWN IMMEDIATE FAMILY: Matthew and Maria Gray, both living, location Trenton, Indiana. Grandparents are deceased.

SIBLINGS: Two younger siblings: Mark, brother, two years younger, and Penny, sister, four years younger.

METHOD OF ACQUISITION: Involuntary.

ACQUISITION DETAILS: Access to subject provided by local business. Subject was apprehended without incident by Handler Benjamin Ralford. Subject was given an injection of sedative and transferred to WRU company vehicle at 3:15 pm. The rest of the acquisition proceeded without incident.

ASSIGNED HANDLERS:

CONTRACT SIGNED: 06.09.20XX 5:55 PM

PRIMARY: Benjamin Ralford, per request, acting as primary. Handler and Processor, Romantic Division.

SECONDARY: Melissa Striker, Senior Handler and Processor, Romantic Division

SIGNATURE PROVIDED VOLUNTARILY, SUBJECT NOT SEDATED FOR SIGNING. SUBJECT SHOWED NO VISIBLE SIGNS OF INJURY AT TIME OF SIGNING. SUBJECT REPORTED FEELINGS OF FEAR AND CONFUSION COMMON TO NEW RECRUITS.

CONTRACT SIGNATURE: Haven Gray, aka 549065

PRESENT AT TIME OF SIGNING: Handler Benjamin Ralford, Badge #3345, WRU Attorney Ryan Alderson.

ESTIMATED COST FOR TRAINING: $125,000 USD

COMPENSATION TO BE PAID BY PROSPECTIVE: $500,000 USD

CURRENT LOCATION: Romantic Division Room #12, post-signing contract

TRAINING PLAN: ALL Positions 1-35, Flexibility, Sensitivity, Endurance, Dance, Socialization

COMMENTS:

I’m going to take every fucking thing out of that head and put back in only what I want to be there. I think they’ll fall in line once the Drip is really working on them. My professional recommendation is total illiteracy should be emphasized before moving on to other training. They’ll do better with focus and commitment on the skills we want to impart that way. I am also recommending absolutely no scarring unless there is no other option. - Benjamin Ralford, Primary Handler

Scribbled at the bottom of the paper and not put in to WRU’s digitized records system is a note in Ralford’s handwriting:

Should’ve gone on that fucking date, asshole

@astrobly @burtlederp @finder-of-rings @whump-tr0pes @raigash @orchidscript @doveotions @pretty-face-breaker @eatyourdamnpears @boxboysandotherwhump @vickytokio @whumpfigure @outofangband @downriver914 @justabitofwhump @thehopelessopus @butwhatifyouwrite @yet-another-heathen @nonsensical-whump

#epistolary #whump #horror fiction #epistolary fiction #going missing #captured #captivity #bbu #box boy #box boy universe #box buddy #nonbinary whumpee #allyn bb #wru intake form #wru intake paperwork #implied noncon #abduction tw #abducted whumpee

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mrarchewannabe · 3 years

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First Contact and it's Complications: Part 2 Biology Lesson

This is head researcher Bea'zikal following up from my previous reports as I stated before, I do apologize for the lack explanation and detail in those entries and I will now give you the full documentation of what I have observed with my time spent with Humanity and more specifically Human Head researcher who is referred to as Jamal Alteriq, a very fine scientific mind and excellent guide as he was the one to be our ambassador through Human space and of course to keep eyes on us. We saw many incredible things on our journey and I will explain in due time, but I thought it wise to give a basic run down on human biology to better help visualize the scenes I will explain in later logs. (Note: I advise you to open the attached encrypted files for observation while reading)

Humans are lightly Haired mammals that evolved on a rich but highly diverse Planet that was covered in approximately 71% water with humans living on the 29% of Land, resources were plentiful but competition was fierce as many species competed for control of those same resources, the resources in question being food and 'fresh' water which is a specific term as humans cannot drink water that is above or below a certain Ph. Level or a has a heavy imbalance of minerals;They also cannot drink any water that is contaminated with parasites, or Planetary elements such as dirt. This of course isn't to say humans have entirely weak stomachs as they are capable of consuming certain acids such as Malic and Citric Acid which is used in food flavoring, and of which would result in violent death should either substance be consumed by a Zeatikian, in addition to consumption of such compounds they can digest Certain forms of Alcohol and many forms of Capsaicin which many of course know isn't poisonous but considered non-edible to all Zeatikians and instead sees a use as a defense weapon. Moving on from the topic of consumable and non-consumable liquids brings us to eating habits; Humans specified as Omnivore 'Persistence' Predators, and can consume a wide variety of Meat and Plants, which a balance of both is needed to maintain peak physical form and a healthy digestive and immune system. From what Human Head Researcher Jamal Alteriq has told me ancient human hunting wasn't chasing down prey at high speeds but rather simply outlasting it in a slower walk chase(Note: Humans have a extreme amount of stamina and can walk for hours at a time as they evolved to efficiently maintain a pace of speed) and when the prey was tired and unable to continue on humans would slay the creature and bring it back to be cooked then consumed. (Note: Cooking is one of the few things that are shared in Both Zeatikians and Human evolution) Head Researcher Jamal Alteriq also informed me that eventually ancient Humanity began Agriculture and that is what primarily began to start up human culture and civilization.(Note: again one of the few things that are shared amongst our history)

Head Researcher Jamal Alteriq told me of the Human Life stages which are of a very different cycle of our own from our People the Zeatikians, conception of offspring is relatively the same between our two species, but with various degrees of success in humans as their method of reproduction is relatively different between Human to Human. Head Researcher Jamal Alteriq Suggested that's all we do to speak on the matter and I obliged his request how ever odd I thought it was.(Note: After doing research on this topic myself I also now recommend that all Zeatikian researchers stay away from this topic as well as it's very traumatizing to look at) Humans generally can only have one child every half a cycle but it can be more numerous if chance allows it, and human offspring is extremely vulnerable and must be cared for by it's parents constantly otherwise it will most likely guaranteed to perish; of course in this time human 'infants' (Note: Infants are the name for children that under a cycle and half old) are cared for by not only the parents but also other humans hired to be care takers as well that can give the infants whatever they need at anytime while the parents set off to complete tasks.

Humans possess what is called an Endoskeleton(Note: Observe attached files) which gives their bodies structure and allows an anchor for their extremely complex muscular system as well as keep internal organs safe and secure. This Endoskeleton is made up of bones of very high calcium content and is extremely durable and strong, shown being able to with stand many hits that could cripple, paralyze or downright kill a healthy Zeatikian. Infant humans start out with more numerous but weaker bones and cartilage numbering around 300 individual structures but eventually after many cycles they all fuse into their respective positions and become stronger and thicker; this is most prominent around what they call their 'Skull' which is a bone structure that contains their brain and connects to the spinal column (Note: Observe Highlighted Area) and starts out segmented and eventually becomes fully fused and one solid structure in about 22 cycles. Part of the function of the skull is a basic one hinged jaw that contains anywhere from 32 to 36 bone structures they call teeth which allows them to tear through tougher foods and aids in digestion, the human jaw is relatively weak surprisingly only able to produce 300UPSQ which would absolutely be enough to hurt a Zeatikian so I would advise you be careful.

Adolescent Human offspring undergoes a change around 9 Cycles in males and 7.5 in females, as they approach sexual maturity they begin to swell on muscle mass and increase in growth exponentially over a time period of 4 cycles, during this time hormones are pumped through and over about 1.5 to 2 cycles the voice deepens and body hair is increased, this incredible change is known to cause certain behavior changes as well as changes in diet and appetite. Many human females have certain large orifices located on their chests that are used primarily to feed their young, which should have been obvious seeing how I have already stated they are indeed mammals,(Note: I have been told to report on this much only as logging anymore would make many among the human population uncomfortable, I do not know why but I shall oblige) and as mammals they are indeed warm blooded, which means they do not take too well to fluctuating temperatures as Being in below freezing temperatures for too long can lead to a humans death in about 20 minutes should they be naked in said weather; and so if in the future you have humans boarding your vessel be sure to keep it atleast a median temperature of 400TM and provide them with necessary heating elements if they do not have any.

Humans possess a 'Circulatory system' much like our own that pumps blood all across it's body at a very steady rate of 60 to 100 beats per tick, which is quite slow compared to our 120 to 150 beats per tick. Humans also possess a blood color that shines a bright red compared to that of a Zeatikian that has a bright purple hue, both of our species have iron in our respective Hemoglobins but our kind carries what they call 'Hemerythrin' while they carry whats called 'Heme' and thus that's what gives the difference in blood pigmentation. They also possess various different organs that process everything from sugars and proteins to alcohol and carbs, the 'Liver' which is described as a 'Blood Filter' cleanses the blood as it passes through it, while organs like the 'Kidneys' process liquid waste, sugars, salts, and all minerals to help keep it stable within the body.

The Human 'Immune system' is a very strong and very important system in the human body as humans do not have segmented Carapaces like all Zeatikian's have, rather they possess a skin of 7 layers and this layered skin protects the body from the outside world, when penetrated or slashed open blood will began to flow out much like a broken carapace or cut joint segment would, the cells in the human would try to seal the cut with platelets which will form a scab, which is a temporary seal while the skin is being repaired anew; as this process does share similarities with the way our Carapace heals itself our process is much slower while the humans can heal their skin in a matter of a few rotations depending on the severity of the injury. Of course during the cut possible bacteria and other such microorganisms could have infiltrated the bloodstream and usually once successful they become targeted by the protector cells or as humans call them 'white blood cells' for destruction.

The 'Digestive track' is relatively self-explanatory so I will be brief on the subject, when food is consumed it is first chewed and made wet by the 'Saliva' a human produces in their mouth which helps break it down further and eases the transfer of food from the mouth down the 'Trachea' as they call it and into the 'Stomach' which becomes broken down by 'Stomach' acid,various compounds,and gut bacteria that absorb the nutrients and forward the waste through what humans call the 'Large Intestine' which then transfers through the 'Small intestine' which is the excreted by the Human, relatively the same processes any Zeatikian goes through.

Humans of this modern era however are nearly perfect as about 1000 cycles ago an event on their home world that was put into motion made humans as nearly perfect as they could be biologically, but this change however was not a instant process as the changes would only take place slowly after every generation, each one living longer then the last, getting sick less, and less in the population being born with genetic conditions that had debilitated humanity for eons. Nowadays it is rarer for humans to catch a sickness, but impossible for any human being to be born with a genetic condition aside from the few they found desirable. Many live long fulfilling lives from what I'm told by Head Researcher Jamal Alteriq, some living their full total lifespans of 200 cycles which I can only dream of living a mere 40 cycles let alone a long 200 cycles.

This concludes my report on the basic biology of humanity I hope you found it informative and helpful, I shall work on my next log about human economic and social status, which Human Head Researcher Jamal Alteriq Helped immensely on.

Head Researcher Bea'zikal Signing off

(I hope you enjoy the sequel to what I wrote first I'm really proud of this one but please tell me if there is anything I could do to better my writing? Constructive criticism is appreciated, more parts on the way)

#science fiction #humans are space orcs #sci fi/fantasy #sci fi #writing #aliens #scifiandfantasy

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thecitythatdoesntsleep · 3 years

Text

Vampire Master-Guide

First of all I want to start off by saying I've gathered inspiration from MANY vampire medias. Fictions, games. The biggest influences are Vampire the masquerade (primarily bloodlines) and Vampire Knight (manga). As well as honorable mentions to Vampyr (game), Queen of the Damned (movie) and Van Helsing (movie, anime). So if anything sounds familiar, chances are it is. I highly encourage you to explore them as they are a few of my favorites.

Second of all this is going to be massive, so I'll be putting it under a cut. But it will be a comprehensive guide to my personal vampire lore that I've crafted and worked with through the years. If you like it, feel free to use it! I'd absolutely love to be tagged (so I can shower the creations with praise) but it's not required. I'm just out here making one more version of vampires that hopefully inspires you. There will be a couple different categories that I will touch base on.

History (this part is super short)

Physicality - Medical Information

Physicality - Appearance/Body

Mental Effects

Society

Anything from my vampire lore will be tagged #vlor

Now follow me under the cut, lovelies. But please be Warned: We'll be discussing blood, violence, physical and mental illness. As well as regular vampire related things. If any of this could trigger you, please kindly skip this post because you're far more important to me!

'History'

The original vampire to walk the earth, cursed by the heavens was Caine. After committing the first murder, a blood-soaked punishment was to forever be banished to walk the darkness with a constant reminder of his crimes. Thirst. Craving for the same blood he shed against his own kin. The sin was carried through the years and he came upon another outcast kindred by the name of Lilith, cursed by God in a different way and hexed with powerful disciplines.

They bonded as kine and Lilith taught her chaos to Caine in hopes they'd rule together. In the end his nature stayed true and his now empowered wrath befalls Lilith, committing murder yet again and taking her life.

To feed upon and be fed, was a now animalistic instinct that spoke louder than supposed human nature ever could. And thus the curse spread. To anyone that drinks from the tainted or is bitten by a rabid, is surely to bear it at the final heartbeat. The path to redemption is sealed but survival is nearly infinite. So long as the beast is obeyed and satisfied, there is no constraint on lifespan. They will be damned to an eternity enslaved to thirst.

(Primarily from VTMB but I really like the idea of it being some sort of ancient curse from the gods so I thought I'd include this tiny historical bit. Onto the good stuff.)

Physicality - Medical Information

Vampires are anemic, let's just establish that all vampires are what modern day medicine would consider anemia. But they also have super aggressive red blood cells that function x100 that of human white blood cells. All in one combo of super cells. No illness spreads. No disease can contract, nothing can live in their system. They don't fall ill with colds or flu. STD's aren't feasible. Their systems are far too strong and combative to infections, bacteria.

Their integumentary systems regenerate about x200 - x300 times faster. Within seconds (if there is or has been fresh blood in the system recently) their skin regenerates and goes even beyond that. Mere hours and limbs grow back, bones realign.

Vampires don't have functioning organs. (If they are turned from humans they are there but they don't work and will eventually wither.) Hearts don't beat, lungs have no need for air.

Vampires can't drown. They don't breathe and even if water fills their lungs, they would be weighted down but not die. They also don't float like humans do naturally.

Vampires can go out in the sun but they have hard times with sun poisoning. Think of a sunburn but more like a rash. They can't process the vitamin D very well and almost all of them have trouble with getting severely burnt very rapidly or having a rash from the sun. Prolonged exposure can make them feverish, nauseated and give them body cramps and fatigue. Even longer can make them violently ill and can essentially melt their skin. It can be healed but takes longer.

Staking their hearts immobilizes them but does NOT kill them. They can be detained this way and it is excruciatingly painful. But it doesn't kill you.

Vampires can't eat food. Only few can consume liquids aside from blood. They have no ability to digest it and no longer make acid. They'll usually heave it up along with whatever blood content is left in their gut.

They have perfect eyesight, hearing, hyper senses of taste and smell. Touch is extremely sensitive as well. Their skin isn't fragile, in fact it's a bit thicker than average skin from how fast it regenerates and is constantly maintaining itself.

They are very resistant but not impossible to scar. Scars from human life are erased with first turning.

Vampire blood tastes like flat soda or icky, room temperature tap water. Unpleasant to other vampires but in a desperate pinch, it will sustain but nowhere near as good as foreign blood does. Even animal blood takes better care of a vampires system than another body of recycled blood. (Think of it as they've already taken the good stuff out of it for their own bodies so all that's left is the taste and a few stray nutrients.)

Vampires fangs grow back indefinite. At about x10 the rate of humans losing and replacing their first set. No matter what comes of them, their fangs will always grow back. No other teeth mutate like this.

Fangs lengthen and retract when around blood or not. It's not something that can be helped or even trained out. When blood is present, fangs will lengthen even if there is no intention to feed. Automatic reaction and a painful one at that. They get used to it but it's a sharp pain like having a human tooth extracted but it doesn't have prolonged swelling or discomfort. Only when getting longer or retracting back in.

Whenever they're in bloodlust or a state of starvation, they gain a sense of x-ray vision but instead it's vein mapping. They can see through skin to arteries and if it's severe blood lust, they can even see the smaller, tinier veins in fingers and faces. This is a sight that ever vampire possesses in order to obtain blood easier or figure out a good place to bite. Anything that is living will be seen in a structure of veins. Animals, humans, other vampires.

Severing the brain stem from the body is one of the few sure-fire way to kill a vampire. Alternatively burning them to pure ash and scattering them or holding them in separate vessels. (If ALL ashes are contained somehow and mixed with fresh blood, there is a reanimation process so beheading them is more permanent.) Silver weapons or exposure to silver prior to wound can result in death as well.

Alcohol is SUPER effective when they drink it. Think of one shot making them drunk because it hits their bloodstream almost immediately. A double would have them seeing double and acting like a hot mess. 3+ for even the beefiest of men would have them blacked out and vomiting on the sidewalks.

Drugs effect them but only in extremely high doses and for nothing really over 2 hours or so. Short, short longevity but they have the same crash that humans do. If it's hard detoxing symptoms for humans, it's the same but faster. They can do a hard drug, feel the high for maybe 1 - 2 hours and immediately go into hallucinating and shaking from the aftermath. The same goes for Pharmacia. There's really no medicine that works.

Garlic is a myth. So is wolfsbane.

Silver on the other hand is a very real, very deadly weapon that still rings true. A single pinprick of a silver sewing needle and it can render a vampire powerless. Slow them down to the speed of a human, take away their rapid healing and remove all of their heightened senses. Silver directly into the bloodstream essentially renders them as they were before they turned in physical response and structure. It's the only metal that burns vampires skin and will char it if it sits in one spot for too long. Silver is the only kind of metal that can forge chain that vampires cannot break and can successfully be restrained in. Any wounds inflicted in silver take longer to heal.

They can't reproduce after being turned. Purebloods + Purebloods are the only exception and it's still extremely rare. (Only 9 children born in over 2,500+ years.)

Physicality - Appearance/Body

Whatever color their eyes are, blood-lust accentuates the brightest color. I.e: Brown eyes turn Yellow/Gold, Blue eyes turn White/Purple exct. (Different powers can change this depending on the vampire and their history, sire.) Just think neon, glowing eyes in the dark if they're thirsty or hunting.

They stay frozen in whatever physical appearance they're turned in. Their metabolism is whack so they don't really lose or gain weight, it's down to cosmetic changes or cosmetic surgery. Which at least it heals flawlessly and doesn't ever change. But there aren't many options for personally invested physical change.

Their hair and nails grow super fast.

Vampires usually have the hair color they have when they are turned but around 15% experience graying or whitening of their hair within a few days of turning. Due to a semi-common genetic string in humans.

Vampires don't tan. They burn. No matter what their skin color is. Most are the palest/pasty tone of their natural skin color merely due to anemia and lack of blood circulation.

They don't blush or show physical signs of fever.

Vampires don't sweat or flush when exerting or exercising. They don't have to regulate their body temperatures.

They get dry skin pretty often and it's important to combat it with baths and soaks and lotions/oils whenever possible.

They are usually a lukewarm body temperature. As low as 15°C|59°F to as much as 21°C|69.8°F.

Every vampire has a certain amount of charming allure to them. In whatever form or fashion suits them the best, it's a natural attractant to their human counterparts. A glint to their eyes, a certain smile, the pitch or timbre of their voice. Endearing, seductive, mysterious, whichever shines through in their personality. They are magnetic, attractive to the human eye, no matter what they tend to look like.

They can see themselves in aluminum coated mirrors. Just not silver.

Mental Effects

There is a staggering 95% probability that 'created' vampires will have amnesia unless turned by a pureblood/noble/king/queen/high ranking blood vampire. They remember nothing of their human lives and this is extremely common. It's actually very rare to remember anything prior to your awakening. (That's why there are usually strict laws about siring without consent and proof of consent.)

It is very easy for vampires to be blinded by fits of rage when starving for blood. They can fly into blind anger and attack people they normally wouldn't or even foes they have no chance of winning against. Depending on their remaining strength when this tipping point of starvation happens; it can be extremely dangerous to be around.

Most turned vampires suffer a psychotic break in their early turning years. (Between 6mo and up to 25 years of awakening age. I.e: from the date of being bitten.) The brain is the last thing to be altered in the physical process and because of this, it's believed that their mental state has to crumble to be built better. It's unknown as to exactly why this happens but it's almost guaranteed. It's the vampire equivalent of 'adolescence'.

Over 75% of vampires experience periodic depression and random bouts of sadness. Another 39% live with bouts of mild to moderate psychosis. (This has been suspected to happen because of the physical stasis and improper circulation of chemicals/hormones/exct. Many believe it's because of the guilt of their King, Caine.)

Mental illnesses that aren't born from physical imbalances are in cases of amnesia, cured. Those that are chemically related are usually worsened by the stagnant physical changes of vampirism. It's rare that those with amnesia remember their traumas or emotional upsets after turning.

The "amnesia" of turning is the death of a human psyche. With the staggering rate of permanent amnesia, it is hard to figure out exactly how it happens but it's widely known.

Society

Humans are not fully aware of vampires. This still rings true with the fear of world war and or wiping out the human race given their species.

There is a high society "government" type of monarchy. Each clan or type of vampires has a leader "elder". This is usually the oldest vampire to date of that specific type. Sometimes it's a group or a family of elders. In most modern day they have adapted to a more "presidential" route and have to establish themselves as leader types to be considered for any kind of law making or enforcement. (I.e: Noble bloodline, diligent efforts of servitude such as public service, military or other.)

There is a strict law against turning humans. Vampires are required to have clearly given consent and the process is to be looked over by an elder or enforcer. They must show strenuous documentation of that persons preservation in the name of probable amnesia. They must have a comprehensive processing of that persons interests, personality traits, societal standing, proof of occupational termination, familial status and situational agreement. (Basically they don't want humans forgetting their lives entirely and they want to make sure that they are able to move somewhere or hide from their families until they're well trained enough to be around them again. It's a very long to legally accomplish it.

Every city handles turning differently. Some require the sire to pay the death penalty and others are strictly against killing the one person responsible of their turned kindred.

Vampires are in every day jobs, doing anything and everything that humans do. From trash collecting, to law and doctors. Fame, fortune, poor, criminal; they all live as many walks of life as humans do.

Anti-vampire establishments are alive and well. Most are run by other vampires. Some humans share their beliefs but most typically it's a resounding amount of vampire extremists. This is legal due to the fact that they try to adhere and coexist for their sanctions ordinance. Helping enforce justice for their regions and implore an opposing force for rampaging vampires or other law breaking kindred.

Most human killings are covered up, tampered with or has someone on the inside working on doing both. It's a constant job but a needed one to keep their existence safe from being proven.

There is a massive shortage on vampire doctors serving other vampires or studying from what little information there is on vampirism. The ratio looking like 1 to 300. 1 doctor for every 300 vampires.

The most vampire dominated and lucrative occupations are generally law, publishing and sex working. There are 3 vampires with these jobs to every human worker.

Here is an additional post about how vampire blood would effect humans.

So that was everything I could think of for the time being. I may continue to edit and update this as I have time or I think of something that I haven't touched base on yet. But this is just the general lore I work with when I do write about vampires or when I think about them in general. Feel free to skip certain parts or like.. adapt it however you'd like. I made this to more so inspire people not to show a list of HOW things should go. Take of it what you like and ignore what you don't! Add more if you think of something!

Some of it gets a bit random but it's still things that I've either incorporated in some unpublished fics or talked about with some friends or just fantasized about in general. There's bits and pieces in all media for vampires that I really enjoy and I think every new style spins something different and makes for wonderful content!

#whump prompt #vampires #vampire prompt #whump list #character development #character reference #character sheet #vampire reference #character guide #vampire #vampire list #tw blood #tw violence #tw vampires #vlor

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hongism · 4 years

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mists of celeste ➻ 30

➻ pairing: ??? x fem reader ➻ genre: space au, pirate au, space pirate!ateez, angst, smut ➻ Word Count: 12.0k ➻ Rating: M ➻ Warnings: language, violence, guns and weaponry, blood, future warnings tba ➻ summary: Sneaking aboard the ship of a renowned space pirate may not have been the best idea, but you’ll have to make do with what fate has handed to you

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✧✧✧ act four ➻ part five

“I hate playing a waiting game,” Jongho mutters as he runs a finger over the rim of his glass. The liquor inside trembles from the faint touch, small waves rippling over the surface before coming to a rest again when Jongho pulls his hand back.

You pay little attention to the movements. You’re far too preoccupied with the dainty hand-drawn map in front of you: the small blueprint you hastily drew before coming to the dingy bar thirty minutes ago. Too much of your time in the military is hazy, and the parts that are clear and at the forefront of your mind are most certainly not diagrams of whatever the military bases look like. You have little hope that your memory is serving you well, and even so, there is no guarantee that the military here on Kebos hasn’t changed their systems in the past few years. Jongho holds much more faith in your abilities, however, and he hums as he glances over your work.

“It looks good.”

You can’t keep from rolling your eyes at the tone of his voice, mostly thanks to the constant thrum of anxiety in your gut.

“There’s a big chance that this base won’t even be built the same as in the past,” you mumble. You retrace a few lines off to the side in efforts to busy yourself and quell your nerves, but it does little to help. Jongho shakes his head, and you catch the motion out the corner of your eye.

“This one has been standing for at least sixty years, according to Seonghwa. It’s merely been repurposed time and time again, so… layout should be the same. Even if it’s a little different, you know what you’re talking about. Surely Yeosang can manage it too with his experience.”

“No, he’s – he wouldn’t have spent his time in warehouses and inventory bases. Not with a royal background.” You blink down at the table with little interest, taking your lower lip between your teeth and gnawing lightly at it. “It’s too quiet. Isn’t it? Are San and Yeosang okay?”

A sigh passes Jongho’s lips as he looks over at you, then he shakes his head once more.

“They’re probably fine. They–”

As though on cue, the comm pressed to the shell of your ear crackles to life, and Jongho winces as his does the same, the suddenness of the action catching you both off-guard.

“Hey, it’s me.” You and Jongho both exchange a glance, one that holds a bit of disappointment as it’s only Seonghwa’s voice that crackles through the comms channel. “I’m just checking in – have you made it yet?” You know that the ‘you’ in his sentence is figurative — something to keep Hongjoong from catching onto what’s really going on behind the scenes.

“No, they haven’t – we, I mean, we haven’t gotten there yet,” you reply, keeping your tone to a quiet minimum.

“Can you hear me? Hello?” Relief finally comes, and San’s voice is like warm honey against your ear.

“San,” you exhale. Your jaw stutters a bit as you try to come up with something else to say, but San continues speaking before you get the chance to say anything.

“We just got past a radio barrier. I’ve been trying to reach you guys for at least ten minutes.”

“Well, comms are back online, it seems,” Seonghwa responds, voice fading a bad at the tail end of his sentence. Jongho extends a hand towards you and drops it atop your thigh. It’s a small comfort, but a comfort nonetheless, and you pass him a smile of gratitude.

“I told you not to worry,” he murmurs quiet enough to escape the comms. Your smile devolves into a slight frown, and you bring your chin forward again.

“That was the easy part. Now they need to get past the militia barrier and scanners.”

“You don’t have any faith in us?” It’s Yeosang’s voice that crackles over the comms this time, and you huff out a laugh.

“Stay quiet. There might be guards or patrols nearby.” You refuse your attention back to the map before you, trying to pinpoint where the pair might be at this point. “Hey, one of you look to the left. There should be a grey box on the wall. It’s a router to the laser scanners. Maybe tucked closer to the floor?”

“Yeah, yeah, I see one,” San responds quickly.

“Okay, you’ll need to shut that down by pulling a… um, hopefully a red wire out and cutting it? I never took care of these mechanics on jobs.” You swallow around nothing, feeling the heat of Jongho’s stare on the side of your head, but you try to push it out of your mind in favor of focusing on the task at hand.

“On jobs?” San echoes, curiosity clear in his tone. “You were a soldier. What use would have for jobs like these?” You inhale sharply, and the sound carries over the comms with haste.

“Focus, San,” Seonghwa cuts in without giving you a chance to answer his question.

“Yeah, okay. I’ll cut the wire righ–”

“No, no! Wait a second, you need to know something before going in. As soon as that wire is cute, you’ll only have a limited amount of time to get to the infirmary where the serums are stocked. The guards will notice that something is off and that there’s a break-in within the facility so speed is key,” you explain, maintaining your hushed tone from earlier as you trace a finger over the map on the table. “The infirmary will be straight down the hall, then you’ll need to take the first left, two rights, another left, and it’ll be the last door on the left at the end of that corridor. There is a chance that they don’t store the serum in the infirmary, but all new recruits are taken to one before going through induction. I’ve seen it happen too many times to forget it, so I’m fairly confident that that’s also where the operations happen and the serums should be there.”

“And what are we supposed to do if someone is there?” Yeosang inquires. You hesitate a moment, not realizing that he’s speaking to you and not Seonghwa until the lieutenant provides no response.

“Um… kill them,” you mutter. Jongho’s expression doesn’t shift in the slightest, and he remains unreadable as you search his eyes for some sort of reaction. The only response you get is from Yeosang in the form of a huff of air.

“That’s more like the killer I know you to be, Ghost.”

“You don’t know anything about her,” San sneers back without missing a beat. Yeosang hisses through his teeth – a sound that is nothing more than a whistle over the comms channel.

“Am I stepping on little lover boy’s toes, is that it? Seems like you need to bring that up with someone else before you go around claiming things for your own.”

A crash resounds, then a bang against metal that is so loud it rings in both your ears. You can only imagine what’s happening on the other side of the line, whether San and Yeosang are merely fighting with each other or in serious danger.

“Don’t you fucking call her a thing! Should I start referring to Wooyoung as ‘slave’ again?”

“You fuc–”

“Knock it the fuck off, you two.” Seonghwa’s voice growls over the line. His tone is so severe that both you and Jongho sit up a bit straighter in your seats even though he’s not referring to either of you. San and Yeosang fall silent at the sound of Seonghwa’s harsh tone, not daring to make a sound as the lieutenant continues speaking. “Fight over who has a bigger dick later. This is more important than fucking feelings.”

“I’m not the one having trouble keeping feelings in check,” Yeosang spits.

“God, Hongjoong is a fucking moron for putting the two of them on a mission together,” Jongho mutters as he rubs the skin between his eyes. “Like putting fire and ice together and asking them to cooperate.”

“Yeosang. Don’t make me tell you twice. Do not start shit, and get the damn mission done without further trouble.”

“Yes, Lieutenant.” It’s more than obvious that Yeosang is biting his tongue through the words, holding back what he truly wants to say in efforts to be cooperative, and you almost respect him for it if not the preexisting annoyance you have surrounding the man.

“You two need to hurry this along,” you say once the silence becomes too palpable to handle. “It’s almost time for a unit to make the rounds and check the systems. You need to get going before the half-hour.”

You don’t get a verbal response from either San or Yeosang, and instead, a reply comes in the form of a loud clang of metal. The line falls quiet after that, not because it’s gone dead but because neither man is speaking anymore, and now it comes down to playing the waiting game as they make their way through the base. You drop a hand atop where Jongho’s rests against your leg and clench your fingers hard around his. The wait causes you to hold your breath. You expect the worst to happen, for one of the two to say that they’ve been caught, or that your map was wrong entirely and you’ve led them into a dead end. The possibilities of failure are endless, and your mind won’t stop running through all of them.

“You said the last door on the left?” Yeosang huffs, radio crackling with noise. You exhale a sigh of relief, and tension falls away from your shoulders once you hear San’s footsteps falling beside Yeosang’s.

“Yes, yes, at the end of the corridor.”

“Yeah, we’re in the right place.”

“Are you certain?”

“It’s a big white door with the word infirmary on it, I’m fairly certain we’re in the right place,” Yeosang retorts through a scoff.

“Well, be careful going in as there could be–”

A crash interrupts your train of thought, leaving you to cut off with a deep sigh, and you roll your eyes to keep from snapping at the pair on the other side of the line.

“Do you have to be so loud and obnox—holy shit.” San’s voice falls quiet, and the insult he threw in Yeosang’s direction must not process because the Elitist doesn’t say a word in reply.

“What’s going on?”

“There’s… There have to be hundreds if not thousands of vials in here. Hell, if only you guys could see this.”

“The serum?” You murmur even though you can assume what San’s answer will be.

“Every single one… all have this strange-looking blue liquid in them.”

A stab of a needle, a syringe going into your skin, a strange blue liquid being pushed into you. Warmth, then the feeling of your blood turning to ice.

Your eyes flutter shut. You bite the inside of your cheek sharply to ground yourself, keep yourself from slipping too far into the memory, and Jongho’s hand twists so that his fingers slip through yours. You couldn’t be more grateful for the gesture now; the warmth and comfort in it grounds you just enough to stay on track.

“That’s it.”

“You’re sure?” San inquires, more of a precautionary question than anything else.

“Positive,” you mutter back without hesitation. Seonghwa’s voice crackles over next, a coolly spoken command falling from his lips that has a chill running down your spine.

“Secure the package then.”

“You want us to destroy them all?” San asks. Something twists in your gut, something so unpleasant that you could vomit just from the thought of it. This was the agreement, was it not?

“As many as you can, yes.”

Morality is far too muddy for your liking. Too many hazy and thin lines, too many places where one should read between the lines, and far too many instances in which morals can clash. Life would be much easier if morals didn’t exist at all.

Of all people, you should want these vials destroyed more than anyone else. Yet you can’t shake the thoughts that intruded the precious day, the ones which haven’t left you alone since.

No matter which way you look at the situation, you can only see it as taking away Mingi’s choice. No one is asking him what he wants, and while you understand the reasoning behind that, you cannot grasp how this is the just thing to do. Whether you give him the serum or not, he won’t have a say in the matter. Where is the line drawn? When it comes to morality, when is it okay to take away someone’s consent and leave them with nothing? Surely when it comes to protecting them, but both these options... both can defend him. What then?

“I… Jongho, we – we can’t do this,” you stutter. Jongho’s hand slips away from yours as he turns to look at you. The confusion across his features is more than evident, and you wish you had a proper explanation for him, but your mind is running a hundred miles per second without slowing down. “I can’t do it.”

“What do you mean?” Jongho’s tone holds too much warning in it. You ignore it all.

“Don’t destroy them,” you call over the comms. “San, Yeosang, don’t destroy them.”

“Why? This is what we agreed on! We were supposed to destroy them!” In the back of your mind, you wonder if San might hate you for this.

“I agreed to nothing,” you murmur, unable to keep your voice steady for much longer. Yeosang snorts.

“Then what was the point of coming here? We aren’t going to do anything except break in and leave empty-handed?”

“What are you doing, Y/N?” Jongho presses further, and his tone is much firmer than before. You can’t bear to look him in the eye – the weight of that feels too heavy on your shoulders.

“I – this is – I’m sorry. I’m sorry, J-Jongho, I–” Your words fail you. You want nothing more than to curl into a ball and shy away from Jongho’s lingering stare. There’s a certain kind of disappointment hiding behind his dark irises, one that takes you back to an all too unpleasant memory.

“How could you do this, Y/N?” This is the last memory you want to revisit right now, but you can’t keep it from overwhelming you in mere seconds.

“How could you be so selfish?” Iron bars separate you from the man, but it doesn’t keep you from catching the gleaming emotion in his eyes. “They won’t give you the luxury of death, don’t you realize that? They’ll take everything from you. Leave you as an empty shell. Throw you to the wolves. They’re going to take you away from us, Y/N.”

“Hyunwoo, I already said t–”

“Just give me some more time. We’ll get this sorted out.”

“How? There’s no fixing this, Hyunwoo! We were caught. I was caught! How do you expect to fix that?”

“I would rather die than see them take your memories of us away.”

Your chin falls to your chest. Your body no longer feels like your own, more like someone has possessed you and taken control, and that’s the only way you can justify the next words that tumble from your lips.

“Yeosang, secure some vials, as many as you think is reasonable.”

“What the hell are you thinking? Are you even thinking?” San’s words sink deep into your chest, penetrating your skin with a pain that’s worse than a knife or bullet. Out the corner of your eye, you can see Jongho’s eyes blow wide open as shock overtakes him as well. “This isn’t the time to joke around, Y/N!” You bite at the inside of your cheek, letting the metallic tinge of blood hit your tongue and swirl through your mouth rather than offering any sort of response to San.

“…Seonghwa?” Yeosang is asking for confirmation, for Seonghwa to overrule you or agree with you, and you don’t know what to expect from the lieutenant until he breathes deeply from his end of the comms.

“Do as told. Secure some vials and get the hell out of there.”

Yeosang is in the midst of replying to Seonghwa’s order when the sound of shattering glass resounds. You don’t need to be present to know what is going on, and Yeosang’s shouts confirm those suspicions easily.

“San, you fucking idiot, what are you doing?”

“I refuse to let this happen!” San counters, tone equally scathing and booming.

“I’m not – San, please, I’m not saying to give the serum to Mingi!” You argue. Every ounce of your tone is weak, too fragile to compete with the rage filling San’s, and you’re certain the words fall on deaf ears. “I can’t do – I can’t take away Mingi’s choice like this, San. If he wants it, then please. Please, if he wants it then we will need to have the serum on hand. If you would just listen to reason for a mo—”

A shrill ringing hits your ear so hard that you wince, and Jongho does the same at your side.

“He just triggered a fucking alarm,” Yeosang hisses through the din. “And won’t quit with his idiotic behavior of knocking the vials off the shelves.”

“You need to stop him, Yeos—”

“I already got three, Hwa. All that’s left is to knock the idiot out seeing as this was not part of the mission.”

“You – You can’t leave without him,” you stammer, head throbbing from the insistent blaring of alarms surrounding Yeosang’s voice.

“I know that. Your little lover boy will be fine once he’s done fucking things up royally.”

The table shudders and your cup clatters as Jongho pushes to his feet, thighs bumping against the lip of the metal, and you have to strain your neck to examine his face.

“Yeosang can’t get out of there with San alone,” he explains without sparing you even the smallest glance. Your heart strains painfully in your chest. What was the cost of your morality? To have Jongho not bear to even look at you? To hear San speak to you with such disdain in his voice? You cannot imagine morality is worth it at all if this is the cost.

“Please sit down,” you beg, hand stretching out desperately to catch hold of Jongho’s sleeve. “There should be – there’s a back exit across the hall, through the door and to the right. Yeosang, you can get out through there.”

“Easy enough. San’s like a feather compared to you, Jongho. I’ll be fine on my own.” The claim appeases the dark-haired Berserker for the time being, and he sinks back down to the bench without another word. You’re more than grateful for the huffs coming from Yeosang and ringing alarms in the background that fill the messy silence hanging between you and the man. “The exit is right here. Where do I go after?”

“Um, you take the first left you can find and follow the path you used to get there. You’ll recognize it, at least you should. Hopefully, all the guards will be inside thanks to the alarms. We should meet you near the hangar bay.”

“Meet him closer than that,” Seonghwa cuts in. His voice has fallen to whisper, no doubt to shroud the words from Hongjoong’s ears. “He can’t carry San the whole way back with the vials on his person too. He’ll need help getting back with both in one piece regardless of what he claims.”

“He’s right,” Jongho mutters. This time when he stands up, he takes hold of your arm and pulls you with him. The grip is surprisingly gentle and light, and for a moment it feels as though you have done nothing wrong in his eyes. “Can’t believe how quickly things went to shit.”

It is an opportunity to apologize. You recognize that much, but your damn pride screams at the edges of your thoughts and tells you not to apologize for doing the right thing.

“It’s fine,” you utter instead. Defeat creeps in like a plague. “Everyone got out in one piece.” Jongho’s gaze shifts to meet yours.

“At what cost? Hongjoong will tear the crew apart because he can’t think straight, and now – now you would join him in that? What are you thinking?” The confrontation hits you square in the chest, and you nearly trip over your own feet as Jongho continues to guide you along. For several moments, all you can manage are a few shakes of your head.

“I know this isn’t what you wanted. This wasn’t the agreement for you to stay but… Mingi needs to make this choice. Not Hongjoong, not Yunho, not San, not you. It has to be Mingi.” Silence ensues between the two of you. You can only drink it in for the few precious moments it lasts before Jongho struggles through his next statement.

“Deep down… I know you’re right, and deep down I know that my desires are selfish and biased.” Jongho manages to maintain his steady pace, eyes so focused on the ground before him that he nearly walks into a wall before you move him aside. “But if I let him go through with this procedure, I don’t know what I will do. Remaking Mingi is a cost too high. I would not be able to have my redemption, I would not be able to see my family ever again, and I – I would not be able to forgive myself either.”

You come to a sudden halt where you are, and the pause forces Jongho to jerk back and face you at last. His eyes shine in a way that hurts to look at, tears that threaten to spill over, but he pulls them back before they can fall.

“Listen, Jongho, I don’t know what happened with your family, and I’m not asking to know that either. That needs to be something that comes from you when you are ready and no one else. But there are no rules for redemption. Believe me, I have tried to find them and I have tried to follow them. It can come from anywhere and anything. My redemption – mine is in the form of a handful of pardon papers with no signature on them, and I am waiting for the day where I can forgive myself enough to put that name on there and hand them over. That door – it has been closed many times, but that doesn’t mean that the door is locked. It means that there will be another opportunity in the future. The same goes for you and Mingi. Giving Mingi this choice could be your redemption for all you know. Helping him and making sure that he gets to do something for himself, that he gets to make a choice based on what he wants.”

“It’s… it’s always been about helping Mingi,” Jongho whispers. His lip quivers as he speaks the words, raw emotion pouring through, and in that moment you can truly see the level of restraint and control Jongho has over his emotions. Even when on the verge of tears, the Berserker exudes no anger, no aggression – merely pure and untouched feelings. As vulnerable as the moment is, you know that if you don’t get moving now, Yeosang will be at risk of getting caught especially with an unconscious San and stolen goods on his person. You force your feet back into motion, and Jongho moves alongside you with little resistance.

“There can be a solution then, Jongho, by making sure that Mingi is the one to make the decision.”

“You’re r-right. I know that that has always been an option but I fear what Mingi might say. And I fear the hold that Hongjoong’s word has on Mingi. I cannot trust him to make a completely individual decision without being influenced by Hongjoong in some way.”

“And what if Mingi didn’t know where Hongjoong stood on the issue?”

“That’s… a possibility, for sure. He may not know what Hongjoong would want or ask of him; he could only assume. But he doesn’t operate on assumptions, just as he doesn’t make choices for himself. How is he supposed to know which one is right?” You wish you had the time to stop Jongho again and look him in the eye.

“I can’t pretend to know or understand Mingi better than you do, Jongho. But of all people, you should be the one able to answer that question, no?”

“I should be, yes.” Jongho lets his sentence trail off with a sigh, and he brings a hand up to comb through his hair, pushing it off his forehead with the movements. “I know that Mingi will make the decision that feels best to him. I worry because there are so many unknowns involved. However, I-I want to give the choice over to him, and I want to give him a chance, if nothing else. At the end of the day, all I want is for Mingi to be alright.”

“Then be the one to give this to him, please.” Perhaps you are merely searching for some sort of justification, something that makes your decision okay and fair, and perhaps it is selfish of you to thrust this onto his shoulders rather than bear the weight yourself. But as Jongho nods, everything feels okay for that brief moment. Then the Berserker disappears from your side before you can blink, and a flash of blond appears in front of you. It takes some time for you to recognize Yeosang standing there, profusely sweating to the point where his bangs are glued to his forehead thanks to the moisture. You hardly process the limpness of San’s body around Jongho’s shoulders as Yeosang passes him over to the Berserker, and you think that if you dwell on it any longer, the pain will be too much to handle.

Then, all of a sudden, Yeosang is facing you head-on and it’s as though you are staring down the gauntlet of death just from the look in his eyes. It doesn’t soften even as Jongho shifts San’s weight in his arms and begins to guide the way back to the hangar.

“Did you get the serum?” You ask, tone so thick that your voice is hardly audible. Yeosang falls into step with you when you move to follow Jongho.

“Of course I did,” Yeosang scoffs as he exposes three vials of stark blue liquid. You blink away before the memory comes swirling back.

“Do you still think it was the right thing to do?”

“What of you? Was your decision the right one?” Yeosang counters without missing a beat.

“Of course it was. Actually giving Mingi a choice in the matter is what’s fair.”

“Then you are naive and narrow-minded, only looking at one part of a larger picture. Think about San’s reaction. Truly stop and think about it. Because of your decision and what you chose to do, you took away his choice in the matter. Jongho’s choice. Seonghwa’s. Mine. The people who didn’t want this did not get a choice, did they?”

“Sometimes, not everyone gets to make a choice. There is right and wrong, and the right thing to do was what I did. Jongho understands that and he agrees with me. He is willing to cooperate and talk with Mingi about this matter.”

“Would San think the same? It didn’t sound like he would earlier. In fact, it sounded like San was so vehemently adamant about it being the wrong thing to do that he was ready to do anything to stop it. You can handle me hating you but I wonder — can you handle San hating you?” You sink your teeth into your lip. The skin splits under the pressure, and you taste blood on the tip of your tongue.

“He will understand that it had to be done,” you whisper. “He has to.”

“Yet you only say that to save yourself from the pain of reality, do you not? You don’t truly believe it. Because after all that he’s been through, don’t you imagine that San finds more security in his own morals than those of others?”

“Stop.” You intend for the word to be spoken with force and anger, but the syllable breaks on your tongue as the corners of your eyes burn with unshed tears. Your lip quivers dangerously, and despite all your efforts, you cannot keep it from happening. Yeosang’s glare is nothing compared to the pain ripping through your chest.

“You don’t even try to pretend to be an Elitist. Perhaps Wooyoung’s suspicions were right.”

“What are you talking about?” You hiss between gritted teeth. Yeosang merely shakes his head and refuses to answer your question.

“To answer your original question,” he continues after a small pause, “yes, it was the right decision. It was the right thing to do. And you – you need to be secure in that. You need to stand by it and be strong. If you knew beforehand that you would not be able to stick to the plan, you should not have dangled opportunity and empty promises before San and Jongho’s eyes.”

“And what would you have done?” You spit.

“I would have done the same as you,” he admits, shrugging his shoulders as though it’s the most casual thing in the world. “I cannot pretend that I would not make the same mistakes you have for my weaknesses are far too obvious in that regard.”

“Wooyoung.” It is spoken more as a statement rather than a question, a mere confirmation of what Yeosang said, and his small nod only adds to that.

“It is clear that you care for San. Whether that care runs as deep as the care Wooyoung and I share for each other is yet to be seen, but I would encourage you to tread carefully. Most pain can be fixed with time, but certain mistakes are irreversible. You’re toying a dangerous line between what can be undone and what can’t.”

“Is this a warning, Yeosang?”

“Not one spoken out of spite, as surprising as that may be. One spoken from experience.” Yeosang’s tone falls a bit quiet with the words, and even though it lasts less than a second, you spot a flickering emotion in his dark eyes. The briefest moment of vulnerability that is gone before you know it. “Regret is a disease, Y/N. Once it blossoms even the smallest bud, it won’t leave as long as you live, even if the worst is yet to come. Even if you haven’t done what you set out to do yet. Even if you have only dreamed about crossing that line in your worst nightmares. It never leaves you, and I would not wish that pain on even my worst enemies.”

It hurts to swallow, like you are trying to down a brick that has somehow lodged itself in the column of your throat, and you couldn’t be more grateful for the silence. You don’t have to suffer in it for much longer either, because the shadow of the ship looms before you, tucked away inside the hangar and shrouded from prying eyes as it has been throughout your whole stay on the planet. Jongho shifts San’s weight on his shoulders as he slips through the airlock and turns to face you and Yeosang.

“I’ll take San to the medbay to let him rest. You two should probably head straight to the bridge.” His gaze lingers on your face for a little while longer. You wait, expecting him to say something more, but that never comes and you are left with his silence until he turns on his heel and heads down the corridor.

Yeosang doesn’t wait for you to gather your bearings before doing the same, walking in the opposite direction, and you nearly trip over your feet in your rush to chase after him. He provides no conversation, although given what he shared with you not long ago, you aren’t sure you even want to hear him speak out of fear of how much it might hurt. His warning has left the bitter taste of ambiguity and curiosity on the back of your tongue. It was always clear that he cared for Wooyoung more than anyone else, but for him to speak with such pain in his eyes – however brief that pain may have been – means that the pair have been through more together than you initially imagined. And if Yeosang could barely conceal his pain effectively as an Elitist, you cannot imagine what kind of pain you would have seen had Wooyonug been the one telling you that. And somewhere in the back of your mind, a vague and fuzzy image arises of San’s face, eyes filled with that pain and tears that you wish not to think about. You can at least be glad when you reach the bridge to find Seonghwa standing there alone, eyes watching the entrance with bated breath. He heaves a deep sigh when you and Yeosang step through, fists relaxing by his sides.

“Jongho and San?”

“Medbay,” Yeosang mutters, stepping around the lieutenant to get to Hongjoong’s quarters. Seonghwa lets him go without a fight, but the moment you try to do the same, he slips in front of you. Hands find your shoulders, and his grip hovers between a firm hold and a gentle touch. It is the most minimal form of intimacy, but it’s more than you have had from Seonghwa in at least a week.

“What happened out there?” You know what he’s referring to and what he’s asking but you cannot provide the answer he’s searching for.

“Nothing happened,” you mutter back. Seonghwa’s touch disappears, and you curse yourself for missing the warmth so much. It returns less than a second later as he presses his hands to the underside of your jaw and cradles your face as though you’re made from glass. He doesn’t utter a word for too long; instead, his gaze continues to trail over every centimeter of your features like he’s trying to memorize the sight in front of him or see through you to find the truth. You know it’s not logical but it feels as though hours pass before he speaks again.

“We can talk later. Right now we ought to see Hongjoong about this mess.”

“I would rather be anywhere else.”

Seonghwa tilts his chin to the side, pondering your words for a few seconds, and then he nods slowly. It’s like he can see straight through your walls without having to do more than blink.

“You should go see San. Check on him and see if he’s doing well. Yeosang and I can easily handle Hongjoong on our own.”

You return the words with a nod of your own and pull away from Seonghwa to do as told. You don’t get more than a foot away, however, Seonghwa’s fingers closing around your wrist and pulling you forward once more. Air catches in your lungs. Your eyes find his nearly onyx ones, refusing to break contact even to blink as he guides you back with hesitant steps. You gasp out a shaky exhale when your back hits the wall. Seonghwa doesn’t stop moving forward until he’s intruded on your breathing space, lips so close to yours that if you exhale too much, your mouths would connect.

“How foolish of me to think that I was going to… forgive me for being greedy, I – I missed this,” Seonghwa whispers.

“Being physical or me?”

“Need I remind you that I swore I would not have you unfairly?” Seonghwa tilts his head back only to huff out a laugh. When he returns to his original position, you are right there to greet him with a kiss, slotting your lips against his with a force that surprises the both of you. Seonghwa inhales sharply, and his shoulders tense from the shock of the action before he settles into the touch and presses back into your lips with equal fervor. You refuse to part until you’re desperate for air, pulling away to breathe in each other’s air. “I suppose that means you missed me as well?”

The question is meant to be teasing and nothing more. You are well aware of that, and yet it flips an invisible switch in your head that sends you reeling.

“Did you miss me, Y/N?”

Bright, bright eyes sparkling with all the love in the universe.

“Y/N? Are you alright?”

“I would give my life for yours if you would just let me.”

Your chin dips closer to your chest, shrouding yourself from Seonghwa’s prying gaze until he shifts with you in attempts to make eye contact.

“I’m here, Y/N, talk to me.”

“Don’t subject me to a life without you in it, Jisung.”

Seonghwa’s fingers brush over your chin, and he lifts your face just enough to examine your distraught expression with one that is equally concerned and distressed.

“I-I…” The words you truly want to say die on your tongue.

“I could never. I love you far too much to do that.”

Gone.

“I’m here, Y/N.”

“Promise me that you won’t.”

Jisung is gone.

“I’m not going anywhere, Y/N.”

“I swear on my life that I’ll never leave you.”

Perhaps promises are made only to be broken and that is the only reason why he could not maintain the one he made to you. You’re certain that your life could be described as the sum of broken promises, and all you can amount to is a gross combination of bitterness and pessimism. Even though Seonghwa says he isn’t going anywhere, you can’t shake the pain that has overstayed its welcome yet refuses to go away. You would put all your trust in him if not for that same pain. You owe him an explanation – a decent one in the very least, and a proper one since he’s been so patient and gentle with you – and yet all you can manage to do is slip out of Seonghwa’s grasp.

“I – Hongjoong needs you more than I do right now,” you whisper. Looking up at Seonghwa’s expression provides a completely new punch in the gut, and you could burst into tears on the spot just from the sight of it.

“Yet even if you did need me more, would you let me help you?’ Seonghwa asks. His tone does not rise about a whisper, and you know that is merely because it conceals most of the wobble in his voice.

“If I knew what I needed, then yes.” You release a dry laugh, and it sears your throat as it breaches the air before you, hand coming up to comb through your hair. Seonghwa says nothing more. It may not be an opportunity to leave but you take it as one, slipping back out through the corridor and leaving in the direction you came.

Each step away from the bridge seems heavier than the last. You aren’t sure if it’s the exhaustion finally catching up to you and hitting hard or if the emotional distress has caused it, but walking all the way to the medbay is a struggle of its own. The hazy thoughts that occupy your mind don’t help in the slightest, especially those surrounding the fuzzy and unwelcome memories of Jisung. Sheer willpower is the only thing keeping you on your feet at this point surely because otherwise you would collapse or pass out on the floor outside the door.

The metal door slides open to reveal the white expanse of the medbay, only disturbed by San’s presence on one of the beds and Yunho’s form sitting at the foot of his bed with a tablet in hand. Yunho snaps his chin in your direction the moment you step through, eyes flipping from apprehension to something more relaxed once he realizes who you are. San seems to be comfortably asleep with no wires or tubes connected to him. Just resting. You wonder how long it’s been since he had this sort of opportunity to rest without being disturbed.

“You just missed Jongho,” Yunho says, returning his focus to the tablet. “Couldn’t bear to be around me any longer.” A scoff follows, and you shift your weight from foot to foot.

“Is everything alright between the two of you?”

“I’m supposed to be the doctor, not you.” Yunho laughs, a sound that is loud and clear but does not disturb San’s rest in the slightest. Your gaze trails over the Spectre before coming to a halt on Yunho’s side profile. You shrug even though he isn’t looking at you, hoping that he will catch the motion in his peripheral.

“What happens when the doctor needs someone to talk to?”

“He goes to the captain.”

“What about now? Would you go to the captain now?”

Yunho pushes the tablet onto his lap. Sharp brown eyes flitter up to meet yours, and the first and only thing you notice is a certain lackluster gleam in them. The usual confidence and grandeur to his aura is dull and dismal. He nods his head towards a spare stool, and you’re quick to drag it forward and sit near the foot of the bed.

“No, I wouldn’t. But you’re probably wondering what I’m thinking too. After preaching about how awful the military was for taking away your choices, how could I of all people stoop so low?”

“Everyone sees situations differently.”

“I regret bringing it up and making it an option.” Yunho toys with a loose thread on the blanket under him as he speaks. You’ve never thought the man to be young – childish and immature in some regards, mostly thanks to his jokes and sense of humor – but he has never looked to be a child in your eyes.

Right now, with his legs pulled under him and hands clenching the white blanket, you can say with confidence that Yunho looks like a child. One who is lost and without direction, seeking answers to questions that he cannot ask. And yet, it only makes sense that he would appear that way. He mentioned how he grew up in his mother’s profession learning medicine and tending to wounded people day in and day out. The festival was a luxury he only got once a year, and from the way he spoke of it, it sounded like it was the sole luxury he had.

So no, you have never seen Yunho in this light, but now it is clearer than ever that Yunho suffers and struggles because he was a child who was forced to grow up too quickly.

“A good doctor wouldn’t do that.” He speaks in such a way that sounds as though he is trying to convince himself of that fact rather than you.

“Are you a bad doctor for one mistake?”

“I am a bad doctor for not being able to properly help Mingi.”

“Why is that your job though? Especially when Jongho says that he’s the one best equipped to handle it.”

“I witne–it’s just in my nature. I have seen too much pain in my life to sit idly by and watch others suffer. I have to help people, no matter who they are or what they are. I have to fix them because if not then — then I… what am I if I don’t? A failure of a doctor. So if this fixes Mingi then why would I not take that chance?”

“Would a good doctor take away someone’s choice?” You inquire. “Do you not give every other member of the crew one? Why is Mingi different?”

“Nothing else works. What am I supposed to do? All possible treatments over the past six years have failed. The progress we’ve made is minimal at best but Mingi is still in pain. As a doctor, I am supposed to take that pain away but I only see it getting worse and worse with time as he learns more and understands his feelings better. For what? I know that it’s because of me. I just… I want to take it away.”

“What are you trying to do, Yunho? Are you afraid? Is that it?”

Yunho doesn’t respond right away; instead, he glances down at San’s resting face with tears welling in the corners of his eyes. His next breaths come in shaky gasps – desperate attempts to keep from falling apart. You have only seen him look so fragile and vulnerable once before: when he held a gun to a thug’s head and told him to move out of the way.

“I am only afraid of one thing and that is failure,” Yunho admits once the silence has dragged on for a bit. “And every time I look at Mingi, I see a reflection of my failures. Forgive me for doing things that will take away that reflection.”

There is a stark selfishness in Yunho’s words, an inherent interest to save himself rather than Mingi, and that sends a surge of anger through your veins. You huff air through your teeth, letting the sound ring before standing up and moving towards the door once more. You hesitate just before stepping out and turn to face Yunho head-on as you speak your next words.

“I won’t forgive you for being a coward who is afraid to face the thing he fears most or for being a selfish prick who only cares about his own pain. You can run all you want but don’t ask for forgiveness.”

It puts Yunho on the defensive; his eyes blaze and he sits up a bit straighter with a hardly concealed venom to his gaze.

“And you would know that feeling well, wouldn’t you?” He laughs, and this time the sound holds none of its usual mirth and brightness. “Running? That’s all you’ve ever done. You can’t outrun who you used to be because you are too afraid to lose it. Letting go and moving on is your biggest fear and the thing that holds you back the most. You can stand there and preach about how I should face my fears that are practically trivial compared to yours while you do what? Keep running and clinging to the past?”

You aren’t aware of the tears in your eyes until they hit your cheeks, leaving a path of messy streaks down to your jawline. Yunho has surely already seen the effect his words have on you, but you jerk your head away from his prying gaze anyway and glare at the metal of the door.

“So much for being a good doctor,” you hiss out with as much stability as you can manage. Then you are out the door and gone into the hall. There is nothing more to say, and his words have already taken root in your chest, stretching its reach far into your veins, and every fragmented memory and broken flashback you’ve had throughout the day comes rushing back with the force of a typhoon.

“I could never. I love you far too much to do that.”

“Promise me that you won’t.”

“I swear on my life that I’ll never leave you.”

Every muscle in your body feels heavier than lead, and you aren’t sure how you manage to keep pushing yourself forward without collapsing. The tremble in your fingers is a sign of what’s to come, panic surges through your veins and swells around your vision, and you reach out to brace yourself on the wall.

“Just give me some more time. We’ll get this sorted out.”

“How? There’s no fixing this, Hyunwoo! We were caught. I was caught! How do you expect to fix that?”

“I would rather die than see them take your memories of us away.”

What would they say if they could see you now? Perhaps you replaced them too quickly? You were quick to push them out of your life? What did Hyunwoo sacrifice himself for? Your self-destructive plan to pardon his crimes and put yourself back in jail?

The memories swirling around you are so vivid that you can almost feel Jisung’s hand in yours when he appears at the forefront of your mind. That vision doesn’t last for long though because something new and unwelcome hits you out of nowhere. It strikes with enough force to make you stumble and collapse to your knees, fingers clenching against the cold floor as a new image comes to life.

Everything is dark around you, save for the pale yellow moonlight that filters through a small grate in the ceiling. You can hardly see the scenery outside thanks to the puffy clouds covering the round and full moon. Your prison rattles as the driver hits a bump in the road, then a horse neighs, and you curl into yourself more. The shackles around your wrists are heavy, chains dragging on the floor of your walled cage, but the thick collar about your neck is the only one you can feel. It’s tight enough to choke you, letting you breathe just enough to stay conscious but nothing more than that. Somewhere off to your left, there is some whispering. You can’t understand it – the language is foreign and strange to your ears – but when you glance over, you find a child bearing similar shackles as you.

“Lasu – lasu kan tan wogo?”

You don’t respond even as her eyes meet yours.

“Lasu kan tan wogo?”

The image disperses, her whispers fading into a vague nothingness as you return to reality, and all you can see is the haze of the lights above you blurring with the walls. The edges of your vision are speckled with black dots, and your head hurts so badly you can barely keep your eyes open. You don’t have to for much longer because you can feel yourself slipping into unconsciousness, but just before you do, you see a pair of unfamiliar black boots approaching you.

Warmth. Everything is warm as strong arms slip around your body and lift you high with overwhelming ease. Nothing about the touch or scent of the person is familiar, and you know that it can’t possibly be Jongho or Wooyoung. It shouldn’t be San or Yunho either, but that’s more logical than a random intruder coming onto the ship. A hand brushes over your forehead, hot against your clammy and cold skin.

“I could sense your distress all the way from the cargo bay.”

A man. Cargo bay. Sensing your distress. A Berserker? A Siren? Seonghwa? Not possible, he wasn’t anywhere near the cargo bay.

“It’s okay; you can calm yourself some. Just rest for now.” His tone is so gentle and warm. He could put you to sleep just like this, and it only takes one more sentence for him to do so. “I’ll bring you to Healer.” Your body falls completely limp in his grasp and darkness takes over you, a pleasant sense of calm rushing to greet you as you slip into unconsciousness.

…

The walled prison has returned stronger than before. The road remains bumpy and rocky as you ride along in the darkness, the same child still sitting a foot away from you with her knees tucked close to her chest. You eye her form with a sense of wariness; her nonsensical mutterings haven’t ceased. In fact, they’ve only increased in both volume and quantity no matter how obvious you try to be about ignoring her.

“Lasu kan tan wogo? Cezi, lasu kan tan wogo?”

“I don’t know what you’re saying,” you mutter as a new word comes into her sentences.

“Hosun gatu lu!”

“I don’t know what you’re saying. I’m sorry, I-I can’t help you.”

“Lasu kan tan wogo?” Her ceaseless mutterings return, and you let her voice fade into the background as you look around the cell. You don’t know how long things carry on like that, with noisy chains and neighing horses drowning out the foreign words. When the prison comes to a halt at long last, you don’t know what to expect next. Ahead of you, a door bursts open to reveal several cloaked figures shrouded by the moonlight. One reaches forward and grabs hold of your chains, jerking you roughly. You blink against the harsh light filtering in behind them, unable to defend yourself as the person pulls you out of the cage.

More cages just like your own fill your vision. They are all around you, filling the rocky and flat terrain like they belong there, all containing people of all ages in chains like yourself. Another figure tugs your companion out of the prison, and her voice grows in volume as she continues to repeat her question over and over. No one answers her.

You don’t know what comes over you – perhaps a surge of panic and fear – but you yank against your captor’s grip with as much force as you can manage.

“H-Help! Someone – someone help!” You cry out, voice croaking like a frog, and your throat burns from the effort. One of the chained prisoners in front of you turns at the sound of your voice. Dark charcoal hair flutters in the still air as he whips around to face you, eyes wide and curious as they land on you. All the air leaves your lungs. Your heart constricts painfully in your chest, and you choke on nothing as his face comes into focus.

Wooyoung.

A cloaked man steps in front of you and effectively blocks your line of sight before you can examine the sight further.

Wooyoung.

A searing pain blossoms over your cheek, and it takes a moment for you to process that the person has just punched you.

Wooyoung.

Another blow comes down on your head. You feel your body go down before your mind catches up, and you enter a harsh freefall. Your chains clatter as you tumble to the ground.

“Y/N!”

“Wooyoung!” You jolt awake, chest heaving as you gasp in deep breaths of air. There’s only one person in the room with you when you wake up, and you don’t need to see him to know who it is thanks to the shrill yelp he releases upon hearing your outburst. He slips backwards and falls off the stool he was sitting on, ass hitting the floor roughly. Ironically enough, it’s Wooyoung who now sits on the floor with wide and curious eyes.

“Holy fuck, you scared the shit out of me!” He exclaims, lips folding into a soft pout. “You’re up earlier than I thought you’d be though. You haven’t even been resting for that long.”

You glance around the room, taking in the white walls of the medbay, and your gaze shifts to the bed where San had been earlier. It’s empty now, made in such a way that makes it look like no one was ever there to begin with.

“S-San? Where is he?” You stammer as Wooyoung pulls himself back to his feet.

“He woke up not too long ago and went straight to the bridge to talk to Hongjoong.” Wooyoung brushes his hands over his thighs, rubbing the fabric of his pants until it’s clean of dirt. When he sits back on the stool, he folds one leg under him and peers at you with a skeptical gaze. “Why’d you say my name when you woke up?”

“I…” How are you supposed to explain your dream when you don’t understand it yourself? The strange language, the weird scenery, Wooyoung – you aren’t sure where to even start with it. “Di-Did – I, um, have a question. Did w-we know each other at one point?”

Wooyoung’s frown deepens. He leans back a bit, eyes scanning your expression for any sign of humor or sarcasm there.

“Did you hit your head or something?”

“No, no, just – did we know each other at one point?”

“Um… before you came to the ship, I had never seen you or known who you were. I only heard about you through word of mouth and bounties. Why do you ask?”

“I had t-this dream, and you were in it. In chains and a collar like the one you have now, but… but I was too? I don’t know what it means.”

“It was just a dream, Y/N,” Wooyoung says. He shakes his head a bit, bangs shifting on his forehead, and the image of him whipping around to face you in that misty landscape returns.

“It felt real. It didn’t feel like a dream – more like a memory.”

“I really didn’t know you before you came to the ship, Y/N. I don’t know what you think – who you think I am, but… I don’t know. Maybe you heard me and Yunho talking while you were asleep? And that’s why I showed up in your dream?”

That is debatable at best, but you opt not to voice your doubts.

“Where is Yunho anyway?”

“Ah, he didn’t want to be here when you woke up. Thought you wouldn’t want to see him.”

“It’s probably the opposite actually,” you huff.

“Yeah, I – Yunho told me what happened,” Wooyoung explains. He tilts his head from side to side as he ponders his next words then slides his stool forward so that he can prop his elbows on the bed. “You know Yeosang and I have spent a lot of time together. Lots of years at each other’s side and lots of time in each other’s space. We’ve said a lot of things that were harsh. We’ve been cruel to one another with our words and what we say. Been hurtful and mean and torn each other apart. Not because we don’t care – quite the opposite really. Sometimes our fear overshadows how we feel about one another. Misunderstandings happen, tempers flare, people say things they don’t mean in the heat of the moment. But that doesn’t mean that it should or will ruin your relationship with them. Hell, Yeosang is an Elitist. He barely shows an ounce of emotion most of the time, and I struggle with that because I just have to take his word for his feelings. I don’t get the pleasure of seeing how much he cares about me all the time because he can’t always show it. We’ve struggled with that together and individually, but we never let it destroy us.”

“You and Yeosang must really love each other if you’re so confident about that.” Wooyoung offers a weak smile in response to your words, but the light doesn’t reach his eyes.

“We do…”

“Why don’t you sound certain then?”

“I love him, and he loves me. That’s it. It can’t go anywhere, and we don’t put a label on anything because we simply can’t.” Wooyoung stops himself from saying anything else, and his gaze drops to the mattress.

“Why not?” You don’t get an answer straight away, although that isn’t Wooyoung’s fault.

“Crew to the bridge.” It’s Seonghwa’s voice, as even and steady as ever, and both you and Wooyoung glance up to the speaker in the corner of the room. Wooyoung doesn’t move a muscle, however, and he continues to stare at you with an unchanging expression before he answers your question.

“We went to a fortune teller once – just the two of us before we even joined the crew or knew anything about pirates. To see my future, not Yeosang’s, but… when the woman looked into my future, Yeosang wasn’t in the picture. She said that we were not meant to be in each other’s lives. Our meeting was a mistake, and it was not what fate had planned for us. And as such, any attempts we made to stay close to each other would inevitably end in flames. All because the stars didn’t align for us.” Wooyoung laughs weakly before he glances back up to your face.

“Do you truly believe it?” You inquire in a quieter tone, matching Wooyoung’s solemn expression. The man heaves a deep sigh. A smile stretches his lips but it isn’t kind or humorous in the slightest, merely painful. That thought you had of seeing how much pain Wooyoung would be in when speaking of Yeosang suddenly comes to life before your eyes, and it is far worse than you imagined it would be.

“Every time I kiss him, it feels like someone is digging a hole in my chest and prying my ribcage open so they can carve my heart out. Does that sound like fate to you?” Wooyoung pulls himself up and sits straight as a board. “I don’t care for fate or destiny. I would rather it not exist, but I can’t deny the feeling that I get in my chest in those moments of intimacy. In a perfect world, I would get to call him mine without worrying about what fate has planned for us. But this? This is far from a perfect world.”

Whatever words you thought to say die on your tongue in the face of Wooyoung’s dismal explanation.

“Crew to the bridge,” Seonghwa repeats, sounding a tad more exasperated this time around.

“Come on, let’s get up there before we make them mad. You’ll be okay to walk?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine,” you reply with a nod, letting Wooyoung pull you to your feet. “Who was it who brought me in here anyway? I think I passed out before I saw.”

“Mingi!” Wooyoung beams, and his smile stretches so wide that his nose scrunched up and his cheeks shine. “I stepped out of my room right as he was walking by with you, and he told me that he found you having a panic attack in the hallway.”

“All possible treatments over the past six years have failed. The progress we’ve made is minimal at best but Mingi is still in pain.”

“It’s amazing, honestly. A few years ago, he probably would have killed you to put you out of your misery had he found you. But now – now he knows how important saving people is to Yunho, and he understands it even if he doesn’t agree with it.”

“And every time I look at Mingi, I see a reflection of my failures. Forgive me for doing things that will take away that reflection.”

It is clear to you in that moment that somewhere along the way, Yunho got things twisted. He viewed progress and growth in terms of the amount of pain a person was in, not the shifts in their decisions and opinions. And surely there are reasons for that – perhaps that story Hongjoong mentioned of how Mingi killed Yunho’s lover affected things in some way – but you cannot shake the feeling that it runs deeper than that. The boy who grew up too fast thanks to his profession as a healer is all too similar to the one who was robbed of his childhood to be a killer.

You and Wooyoung are the last to reach the bridge. The crew is spread out more awkwardly than the last time you all were here together: San and Yunho linger off to the side with flat expressions while Mingi and Jongho stand closer together, and Yeosang stands near the captain’s chair, keeping his hands folded neatly behind his back. Seonghwa is on the opposite side of the chair, and he bears a similar stance to Yeosang except he rests a hand on the back of Hongjoong’s chair. It’s close enough to brush over the man’s shoulder, but Seonghwa opts not to and keeps the distance he has currently. You try not to let your thoughts wander back to your exchange with Yunho. He glances up at you when you step onto the bridge though, and the neutrality in his visage crumbles into regret and guilt the moment you lock eyes. Wooyoung has to nudge your arm to get you to continue moving.

“Right, now that we’re all here…” Hongjoong clears his throat and sends a pointed look toward you and Wooyoung that has you both mumbling quiet apologies. “And now that Jongho and Mingi have had time to speak one on one, we need to come to a decision about this whole ordeal prior to leaving tomorrow morning. After no shortage of discussions with the lieutenant, we at last reached an agreement to allow the choice to be Mingi’s and Mingi’s alone.”

Wooyoung’s hand darts out to grab yours, and you’re just as caught off-guard as he is. While he releases an audible gasp, your lips part in a silent one that has you looking over at Seonghwa to gauge his expression. Despite the exhaustion, you find a certain degree of relief there along with a faint smile that blooms when he blinks down at Hongjoong’s head.

“And I believe you’ve explained everything to him, Jongho?”

“I have. As promised, no biases.”

Hongjoong nods only once then turns to Mingi. He stretches a hand out, fingers unfurling to reveal two vials of blue liquid in his palm.

“What would you have me do, Captain?” Mingi inquires the moment Hongjoong reaches forward. For a moment, you think Hongjoong will answer that question truthfully. However, all he does is offer a tight smile.

“I would have you decide what’s best for yourself.”

The tension throughout the room is so thick that you could cut through it with a knife, and Wooyoung’s grip on your hand increases with each second that passes in silence. Anxiety still bubbles in your gut despite the fact that you got what you wanted. You wanted this for Mingi, you were so desperate for it, but you can’t keep yourself from wondering if it will all go to waste when Mingi makes the choice.

“I… don’t like being in pain,” Mingi starts. Hongjoong’s jaw shifts and his hand wavers, but he manages a steady nod. “And I do wonder what it would be like if I took the serum but… at the same time, I have memories I do not want to let go of. All that’s left of my father are my memories of him. Even if I should despise him for the choices he made, I would not like to forget those things. I have many regrets and have made many mistakes as well but – those are not things I would like to forget. I need them to learn more and better understand why they are mistakes and why I regret them. But I can’t pretend not to know that you would rather me put it behind me and move forward without having that hold me back.”

“I wou–I will not share my bias,” Hongjoong says, lips pressed tight together.

“Even if you did, my decision would remain the same. I don’t want it. Captain, I – Hongjoong, I would rather they be destroyed.”

Hongjoong’s face falls so flat that it terrifies you. You cannot read his next move, whether he’s angry or relieved, any of the thoughts running through his mind are lost on you in his stillness. There are signs of relief on San’s face, as well as Seonghwa’s and Jongho’s, which you expected from them. Yeosang seems to be thinking of something else, and based on Wooyoung’s wavering hold on your hand, he is grateful to hear Mingi’s decision as well. Yunho won’t look up from the floor.

Hongjoong stands up slowly then steps down from the chair to be face to face with Mingi. The Berserker towers over him, but when Hongjoong looks up at the man’s face, you see zero intimidation or fear in either one of them. He lifts one of Mingi’s hands and pushes the two vials into his palm, closing his fingers around Mingi’s.

“However you see fit to destroy them, I would only ask that you be the one to do it.” Hongjoong pulls away from Mingi after that and returns to the captain’s chair to sit back down. “Lieutenant Park constructed the plans for if this was Mingi’s decision, so… he will provide the details himself.”

Seonghwa pulls his arm off the back of Hongjoong’s chair to stand up straighter, nodding to the captain before speaking himself.

“The planet is home to many bunkers thanks to the asteroids circling the planet. In the event that these asteroids fall into the atmosphere and collide with the planet, the inhabitants are to use these bunkers as safe havens to protect themselves from harm. Over time, many bandit crews have taken to claiming bunkers for their own, including our allies in the Bloodletter Crew. I exchanged a call with them last night to discuss the usage of one of these bunkers, and we came to an agreement about allowing Mingi to reside in one of their bunkers for as long as we are out on this mission. It will prevent him from having to go see Vladimir with us, but also protect him from Vladimir’s men circling the ship while we’re gone. They will also take some of the cargo off our hands as that was the price they named for this exchange. A bit of lost money in the long run, but well worth it for the safety of the crew. The bunker they’re providing is not far from our destination, so San and Jongho will accompany Mingi to the bunker and reconvene with the rest of us outside. From there, we conduct the mission as discussed. San and Jongho will take left-wing while Yunho, Wooyoung, and Y/N maintain the right. Yeosang and I will accompany Hongjoong to meet with Vladimir. The wing teams are merely there to watch for any tricks Vladimir might have up his sleeve. He is not beyond assassination attempts in plain sight, so all of you need to be as alert as possible.”

“Is that all?” Hongjoong asks, glancing up at the lieutenant.

“Yes, Captain, everything as we discussed.”

“Very well then, I would advise you all to go and rest now. It’ll be an early morning and a long day tomorrow. And Jongho, if you please stay a moment so we can talk in private. Mingi as well, if you would.”

“Okay, can we have a celebration dinner right now, please! If Jongho is gonna be a while that means he doesn’t get to cook!” Wooyoung exclaims as he tugs his hand away from yours. “Seonghwa, please give us a decent meal for once, I am not too ashamed to beg for it.” The lieutenant snorts and rolls his eyes but steps down from where he’s standing nonetheless.

“Unlike Yeosang, I would not like to hear you beg for anything. I’ll still treat you all either way though.”

Wooyoung sputters at Seonghwa’s comment, cheeks flushing a bright red in seconds, and you can’t keep from smiling at the small exchange. San moves with Seonghwa when the man steps forward, and Wooyoung returns to grab your hand before trying to drag you from the bridge in his excitement. Jongho stays behind as asked, and Mingi lingers at his side as asked. Yeosang is the last to move, waiting for Yunho to catch up before falling into step with him. You are about to bring your chin forward to focus on making sure that Wooyoung doesn’t guide you into a wall, but something happens to keep you from doing so.

It is as discreet as possible, but you catch sight of the exchange nonetheless. As you do, your breath hitches in your throat and you forget how to function for a moment. It's the flash of blue that passes from Yeosang's hand to Yunho's, slipping under sleeves with haste so that no one sees it, and the hushed whispers Yeosang hurries to send in the healer's direction. You don't know what they're talking about, but there is a growing hunch that it has nothing to do with Mingi or Hongjoong. Yeosang would not be this secretive if that was the case; no, this is something quite different, something outside of the current situation entirely, and that scares you more than anything else.

✧✧✧ a/n: lmfAO 12K?!? bITCH HOW!!! okay but anyway i honestly forgot what to do with myself it feels like it’s been years since an update and i was so anxious to get this one out and it ended up being !!! 12 fucking k!!!! what the hell!!! crazy stuff fr oml i hope you enjoy seriously, this one was a joy to write and i enjoyed it so much so i hope that translates and you enjoy as well!!

taglist: @faeriewoobin @sugarrimajins @atinyinwonderland @2504-life @lil7bluedragon @sparklychangbin @jeong-uwu @jeonartemis @anothershorthuman @xxbluestrifexx @haotheheckk @noonawriter @lostscenarios @nlost21 @mirror-juliet @okokokok123-45 @purple-aeon @theoinkypiglet @toothlessshiber @atinyarmyx1 @simpforhyunjin @hwangwoosan @takitaro @vampire-jimin @softyubi @drumboydowoon @chatsgotmytongue @just-a-starfruit

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pretchatta · 3 years

Text

swoon june day 16: heartbeat

[insp]

rating: mature (lap dancing, blood/injury); kanan jarrus/hera syndulla; 2.7k words

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Hera’s heartbeat thuds in her ears as she enters the private club. All around her she’s aware of richly-dressed patrons sitting around tables being attended to by a variety of beings. She holds her head high in her best imitation of self-importance. Even though women of her species are usually expected to be in a different role in establishments such as these, she has learned that projecting confidence goes a long way towards convincing people that she belongs to nobody.

It doesn’t help her fear that comes from being here in the first place.

The club is warm, enough for her to remove the cloak around her shoulders. Underneath she’s wearing a cowl-neck dress that falls to her ankles, the fine material a deep purple colour. It hugs her figure while leaving her arms bare, and a matching cap covers her head and the base of her lekku. Her heart beats harder with a new fear now, the fear of being seen, of being reduced to her body and her species and nothing else. It’s an old fear, one she can control.

She finds an empty booth in a shadowy corner. Ignoring the way her shoes stick to the black floor, she sits on the circular padded bench that runs around the circumference of the small space. The red material is imitation velvoid – or, at least, she assumes it’s imitation in a place like this. The light is dim enough that she can’t tell. Soft music with a steady beat comes from hidden speakers, and she can feel the bass through the seat.

A zabrak server in dark robes arrives to take her drink order, and to ask if there’s anything else they can get for her. She knows exactly what they mean.

“A human male,” she says, in the same tone she ordered the drink. “Preferably tall, with long hair.”

“I’ll see who’s in for you tonight, Mistress.” The server gives a small bow before leaving.

Hera knows exactly who is in tonight. When Fulcrum had offered her this job, they had made it clear she didn’t have to take it. When she took it anyway, fully expecting that she would be the one to infiltrate the club that was actually a front for zygerrian slavers, she had been surprised when Kanan had insisted he go instead. Surprised, and touched. He’d been on her crew barely six months and still hadn’t shown much interest in her rebellion work, but the moment she’d briefed him on this job he’d been adamant that he would be the one in the field. They were fortunate the zygerrians trafficked in humans.

His target was data: a list of the trackers the zygerrians had implanted in their slaves and the frequencies they operated on. Without it, extraction would be impossible. If the zygerrians couldn’t recapture their prisoners they would simply remotely activate the explosives contained in the trackers, and any rescue would have been for nothing. Kanan would get the data, Hera would transmit it to Fulcrum, and then the rescue would be staged by the small team of bounty hunters Fulcrum had hired to ensure total success on this job.

All Hera had to do was meet Kanan and get the list.

Knowing that he’s the only human here doesn’t stop the relief she feels when he finally appears. It’s been four days of waiting, four days of alternating between worrying about him and feeling guilty and selfish for sending him instead of her. For a moment, the sight of him whole and healthy and unharmed calms her. Then she takes in his appearance and her heartbeat speeds right back up.

Kanan’s loose pants hang low off his hips. The dark material drapes down his legs, the lines of light and shadow shifting when he moves. In contrast, his armless green shirt is skintight, doing little to hide the lines of hard, lean muscles on his chest. He still has the same goatee as before but his hair is different – about half has been pulled up into a topknot and the rest hangs loose about his shoulders. His eyes, smudged with a touch of black eyeliner, immediately fix her with a smouldering gaze.

Hera’s cheeks flush with heat. She’s been so wrapped up in worrying about his well-being that, until now, she hasn’t spared a thought for the service she is posing as a customer for. She still hasn’t sorted out the mess that is her feelings for him, and it dawns on her that they might be about to get a whole lot messier.

He leans against the entrance to her booth with a casual grace.

“Do I meet your requirements for tonight, Mistress?”

His voice is low and husky and goes straight between her legs.

She swallows and tries to keep her voice steady as she replies.

“You’ll do.”

He gives her a small smirk as he pushes off the wall and slinks inside. The music grows louder, coalescing into a thrumming song with a heavy beat. He stops in front of her and smoothly takes her hand, bringing it to his mouth to brush his lips along the back of it.

Her breath catches in the back of her throat. She doesn’t know if he’s joking or if they’re being watched, but she follows his lead and keeps up the act in case it’s the latter.

He slides onto the bench beside her in time with the music, still with her hand near his face and his darkened eyes locked on hers. He brushes his nose against the back of her hand and then continues down her arm in a line, over her wrist and elbow all the way to her shoulder. From there he turns his head so that his lips are barely an inch from her earcone.

“They have cameras everywhere,” he whispers. “We’re both new, they’ll be watching us. Just play along.”

Hera gives him the smallest of nods to show she understands.

Kanan’s next moves flow with the beat of the music so well that she can’t help but wonder if there’s more than just four days of experience behind them. He twists so that he’s on one knee, and then swings his other knee over her lap, straddling her. His body undulates over hers, keeping time with the thrumming bass. She notices he’s very careful not to make contact with her, except for where the material of his pants drapes over her lap.

He lowers himself so that he’s almost sitting on her legs and drops his head, his mouth now next to her other earcone.

“In about two minutes there’s going to be an evacuation. Get out, transmit the data, then meet me round the back with a speeder bike.”

Hera hopes his shoulder hides her mouth from any cameras as she breathes, “Where’s the list?”

Kanan turns his head so that his sly smile hovers just above her mouth. “I’m about to give it to you.”

Heat flares in her body in response. His hands cup her face and tilt her head back. She feels his nose brush her throat, and then his hands are running down to her shoulders, along her arms. His nose reaches the dip between her collarbones.

“They gave me a tracker,” he murmurs, his breath tickling her breastbone, “but I couldn’t get the frequency. That’s why I need an alternate extraction.”

In one smooth movement he’s standing in front of her again, holding her gaze with his eyes. He runs one hand down his chest, then takes the hem of his shirt and slowly lifts it. The hard lines of his tensed abdominal muscles had already been visible, but now she can see his flushed skin and its sparse coating of hair. It’s enough to distract her from the question she was about to ask.

Kanan draws his shirt up further, to his chin, at which point he takes the material between his teeth. Then he steps back towards her. He takes one of her hands and presses it against the highest point of his exposed skin, his breastbone, just under the triangle made by the hem of his shirt. With her palm flat against his hot skin she can feel his heart beating almost as hard as her own.

He then moves her hand down and slightly away, grazing the tips of her fingers down his abs in a line. Hera’s barely breathing. Even if maintaining his cover hadn’t been imperative, she wouldn’t have been able or willing to stop now. But continuing their act was important – they were so close now, the last thing they needed was for the zygerrians watching them to get suspicious.

When her hand reaches the top of his pants he cants his hips so her hand is once again pressed flat against him, and she feels something hard pressing into her palm. She hooks her fingers inside his waistband to retrieve the small datachip tucked into it and doesn’t know whether to be grateful or disappointed that it was off-centre.

He lets her hand fall to her lap. Hera draws it up to her face, her thumb tucking the datachip against her palm. Her cheeks are flushed with heat but she holds his gaze as she flicks out her tongue and slowly drags the length of her hand over it, licking off his sweat. Something flickers in his kohl-smeared eyes as she does. When she’s done, her hand is on her chest and she can tuck the datachip into the cowl of her dress.

Kanan blinks and comes back to himself, dropping to his knees in front of her, in time with the music once again. He places his hands on her legs so that his fingers splay over her thighs, their warmth penetrating through the material of her dress. Then he starts to slowly stroke up, towards her hips. He bends his head to follow, his nose brushing along her inner thigh. Hera feels like her heart might explode, blood pounding hot in her ears.

Without warning, the music cuts out. A moment later an alarm starts blaring. Kanan is immediately on his feet, tugging his shirt back down and offering Hera a hand.

“Evacuation alarm, Mistress,” he says loudly and calmly over the noise. Hera takes a shaky breath and allows him to lead her out of the booth. Her heart feels like it’s trying to beat its way out of her chest, and she doesn’t realise she’s forgotten her cloak until Kanan settles it around her shoulders. She turns to thank him, but they’re back in the main area and his face is set in an expressionless mask.

Hera lets herself be ushered back to the entrance she came through by the servers as Kanan disappears through a curtain into the back. In the noise and confusion it’s easy for her to duck away into a side street and away from the congregating patrons, who range from bewildered to outraged that their night is being interrupted.

The cool night air is soothing against her flushed skin. She takes several deep breaths as she walks back to the place she stashed her speeder bike, doing her best to calm herself. Attached to the bike is the short-range transmitter she installed and she uses it now to send the bounty hunters the frequency data. They should be on standby, ready to go as soon as she gives the word, which means the extraction begins now.

She hops on the bike and revs the engine. Kanan’s extraction begins now, too. She never did ask him how he was intending to disable his tracker, and she squashes the sudden fear that he doesn’t actually have a plan for that yet. Or, at least, she tries to; her hands shake on the handlebars as her heart once again starts pounding.

The back entrance isn’t hard to find, because it’s where the bounty hunters’ ship is hovering. She tears around the corner in time to hear Kanan’s voice.

“...go, I’ve got my own way out!”

She doesn’t see who he was talking to, as they are presumably taken up to the ship. It starts to rise as she brakes, calling out to Kanan.

He appears a moment later.

“Go,” he shouts, leaping onto the bike behind her. Three zygerrians follow him out, whips and crossbows in their hands. She steps on the accelerator as Kanan’s arms encircle her waist from behind.

Several shots sail over their heads as Hera urges the bike down the narrow streets. Driving isn’t quite the same as flying, but the thrill is close enough. She takes several sharp turns to throw off any pursuit, and is about to map out a route back to the Phantom when Kanan speaks into her earcone.

“Pull over, they’ll be tracking me.”

She’d almost forgotten. She finds an empty alley to back the bike into and takes them into the cover of the shadows before turning to him.

“You do have a plan to get it out, don’t you?” She doesn’t know if she’ll be more scared or angry if his answer is no.

“Yeah, but it’s going to be messy and I don’t want anyone else to see this.”

That’s something, at least. She’s still trying to work out what he’s about to do when his shirt comes over his head in one swift movement. The sudden appearance of Kanan’s bare chest stuns her into speechlessness as he starts to tear the thin material into wide strips.

“Can you tie this around here?” He hands her a strip and indicates the upper part of his right arm. “Tight, like a tourniquet.”

Hera takes the offered strip slowly, confused. “What are you doing?”

“No time to explain. Just trust me.”

She ties it and pulls the knot tight, grateful that her hands are no longer shaking, though adrenaline still courses through her veins. Once Kanan is satisfied with her work he hands her the rest of the cloth strips. Then he takes a step back from her and closes his eyes. His left hand comes up to hover just over the inside of his right elbow and a small frown of concentration appears on his brow.

Hera understands what he’s doing a moment later.

Bright red splatters Kanan’s chest as something explodes out of his skin. Hera gets a glimpse of a small, credit-chip-sized electronic device floating in mid-air for a brief second. Then Kanan’s hand clenches in a fist and the device collapses in on itself, crushed by an invisible force.

Blood begins to pour from the wound in his arm and she rushes forwards with the rest of his shirt to try to stem the bleeding. The first strip wasn’t just like a tourniquet – it was a tourniquet, tight enough to slow the blood his heart is trying to beat out of his body.

She doesn’t realise she’s letting out a stream of curses as she tries to stabilise him. She’s angry, she’s scared, she’s covered in Kanan’s blood and all she wants is to be safely back on the Ghost with all the doors locked and everyone’s skin intact.

“–absolute kriffing idiot, wool-headed nerf-herder, you bantha-brained stupa–”

“We need to go,” he cuts in, stopping her tirade.

She gives the bloodied mess of material a final tug to make sure it’s tied in place and then relinquishes his arm. He immediately throws a leg over the bike and sits down heavily, and her heart softens. She’s not angry at him for hurting himself, she’s angry at the galaxy for making this mission a necessity.

Noticing his skin is pebbled with goosebumps she removes her cloak and affixes it around his shoulders before he can complain.

“Just hold on,” she tells him gently, cupping his face with one hand. “We’ll get you back to the Ghost and we can fix you up there.”

He nods in response.

She carefully places herself in front of him and feels him settle against her back. She draws his good arm securely around her waist and then revs the bike’s engines a final time, shooting away into the night.

They did a good thing today. The people they freed would be able to return home, and Kanan would be alright. She’d make sure of it. Anything else could be dealt with later.

#kanera #swoonjune2021 #kanan jarrus #hera syndulla #star wars rebels #star wars: rebels #swfic #fic #pretchwritta #swoon june

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